


Wars and Warlords

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: It was a deal. A compact. Her duty. Things were meant to stay purely physical. She was just here to serve his body's whims, to satisfy the basest urges he might possess. And she was more than willing. But nothing ever stays purely physical. The human parts always creep in. Bellatrix/Voldemort.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Re-post.

_Malfoy Manor_

_12 June 1970_

"Bellatrix Black." Lord Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head at the newly-graduated Hogwarts alumna who had requested a meeting with him. "You've come to ask for the Dark Mark. Is that it?"

She stared shyly at him and hesitated. "I have come, My Lord, to serve you in whatever capacity you see fit."

"Well, that would require me to assess just how fit you are to serve me." Voldemort narrowed his eyes and stalked around Bellatrix as though he were a predator enjoying the sight of his catch. "Legilimens."

She had no fight to put up against his Legilimency, so her mind cracked wide open at his invasion. She swayed a little where she stood. In her head, Voldemort saw her whispering to her fellow Slytherins that she wanted nothing more than to be a Death Eater. Those weren't real, one girl had said. Just rumours. But Bellatrix believed that the Dark Lord was amassing an army to help him conquer wizarding Britain, and she'd wanted to become a part of that army immediately. She'd sent an owl at once when she'd left school for good, writing from her parents' house in London and requesting that she be granted an audience with the Dark Lord.

He could see her at the Malfoy Christmas gathering this past December, going wholly unnoticed by Voldemort as he flitted from one strategic conversation to the next. She'd stared at him all night, then she'd gone home and fantasised. He was so handsome, she'd thought. So powerful and ambitious and handsome. She'd wanted nothing more than to lie beneath him, to have him bind her wrists up and choke her and slam into her from behind. She'd spent months thinking about taking him in her mouth.

Voldemort ripped himself from her head, and Bellatrix looked humiliated where she stood. She said nothing, good little thing that she was. Voldemort laughed at her, moving to stand before her and drifting his fingertips over her waist as he did. He had to admit that she was alluring. Only eighteen and built like a waif, her hair comprised of an explosion of silky black curls. Her eyes were dark and heavy, her lips a full pout. She was thin, with just the tiniest hint of a curve at her bust and hips. She would feel good, he thought. And it had been quite some time since he'd allowed himself a woman. He let his hand linger on her waist, testing how receptive she was to his touch.

Very receptive, as it turned out. Bellatrix's eyelashes fluttered as her lips parted, and she whispered carefully,

"Please, My Lord, allow me to serve you. I will be loyal and... discreet. And able."

There were no battles yet. But there would be. Of that, Voldemort was exceedingly certain. Once he had the resources to wage all-out war on the Ministry, on Dumbledore, there would be battles. And he could sense bloodlust coursing through Bellatrix Black. Perhaps she would be a good soldier for him one day, but today she might serve a slightly different purpose.

"You are uniquely suited among my current followers," Voldemort said quietly, tightening his fingers on her waist and pulling her a little closer to him. "You might help me... relax. Help me find a bit of release in this time of enormous tension. How would you feel about such a post, Miss Black?"

"Bellatrix," she whispered, as if he needed her permission to call her by her first name. He could call her whatever he damned well pleased; he could call her 'pussycat' if that had been what he'd wanted. She nodded and assured him again, "I promise to serve whatever purpose you desire of me, My Lord. With all that I am, I wil serve you."

"Mmm. I do like your style, Bellatrix." Voldemort put his other hand on her waist, pulling her even closer and staring down at her. He tried not to let his gaze linger too long on her eyes, for he'd always found that looking too closely at a witch's eyes distracted him from the carnal task at hand. He remembered the way she'd thought of him, the obscene visions her mind had cooked up, and he whispered, "I reckon you'd be game for just about anything, hmm? And you'd be confidential about it, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she answered him. "Yes, My Lord."

A little shock of desire, of craving, shot up Voldemort's spine unexpectedly. He found himself going hard in the trousers he wore beneath his outer robe, and he swallowed hard as he tried to decide what to do. He could laugh at her again and send her away. He could pretend that the flirtation had just been a power move, and he could grant her the Dark Mark and tell her he'd call her if he needed her in battle. Or he could do what his body was aching to do.

"Get on your knees, Bellatrix," he murmured. She obeyed at once, and for some reason the way she raised her eyes to him made him even harder. Voldemort fought to keep his hands steady as he reached into his robes and unbuttoned his trousers. He pulled his cock out, studying Bellatrix's reaction. She stared for a solid three seconds at it, her eyes going wide and flashing. Hunger. That was the look of hunger, and that made Voldemort twitch in his own hand. Then she looked away, seeming to realise it was uncouth to stare. Her hands folded together before her, and she bowed her head demurely.

"Do you know what to do with it?" Voldemort asked plainly, and when Bellatrix nodded, he barked a laugh and said accusingly, "You were a little slut at Hogwarts, were you?"

"I had a boyfriend, My Lord," she said quietly, "but I am a virgin where it matters."

"A boyfriend," he repeated, feeling a very strange and entirely uncalled-for spike of jealousy. He shoved it away and demanded, "Who was he? I'm sure I know the name if it was anyone worthwhile."

"Rodolphus Lestrange, My Lord," Bellatrix mumbled, her hands tightening around each other. Voldemort looked into her head again and saw the scene of an acrimonious breakup, of handsome young Rodolphus accusing Bellatrix of being a 'bloodthirsty wench' who 'dreamed about war and fucking a warlord.'

"Is it true, Bella?" Voldemort tipped her chin up, wondering what had compelled him to shorten her name. When she hesitated, he cocked up an eyebrow and asked, "Do you dream about war? About fucking a warlord?"

"Yes, Master," she replied, and suddenly Voldemort's self-control crumbled. He growled with want, cracking her mouth open with a harsh squeeze on her jaw. He shoved his cock into her mouth, deciding that whatever she'd done to the silly Lestrange boy, this would be better. She gagged a little when he jammed his cock down her throat, and he instantly wished he'd gone more slowly. It was too much, the way her wet, warm mouth had closed around him. It had been years since he'd had any witch at all, and this one was too pretty, too obedient to handle.

She wrapped her fingers around his length and danced her hand up behind her lips, humming with delight against his skin. Voldemort found himself with his fingers knotted in her curls, pulling roughly at her hair as he pumped his hips back and forth. Slowly and carefully he moved, but he couldn't keep it from feeling like bliss. He shut his eyes and tried not to come. He tried not to think about the way her mouth felt, the sound and the vibration of her voice. He tried not to smell the delicious perfume she'd brought into the office with her. He tried not to feel her silky curls in his fists. But he heard her, and felt her, and smelled and saw her, and finally he grunted,

"Decide now if you want to taste it or not."

Her hands flew brazenly to his hips, and she buried him deeply in her throat as he pumped his seed into her mouth. It felt so good, like the best sort of comforting drunkenness, an explosion of contentment that ripped him apart in all the right ways.

"Bella," he heard himself whisper, and she hummed against his skin again. "Bellatrix."

Finally she pulled her mouth from him, swiping the back of her wrist over her lips in what Voldemort decided was the most seductive gesture he'd ever seen. He scoffed helplessly at the sight of her like that, her hair a mess and her lips pearly and swollen. He tucked himself away and instructed her,

"Stand up, Miss Black."

She did, rising on shaking legs and looking up at him with eyes that had glazed over with want. He contemplated using his fingers on her, but he didn't really care about her pleasure. She was here to serve him, to make his cock feel good. She could go home and touch herself for all he cared, but he wasn't about to do it for her.

Still, it took everything he had not to Scour her mouth and kiss her hard. He wanted to do that, to suck on her swollen lips and to dance his tongue with hers. But he didn't. He buttoned up his trousers and said in a casual tone,

"Yes, I think you'll make a fine servant. Roll up your left sleeve; I need to be able to Summon you whenever I want your services."

He tried to make it sound like she was less than human to him, like he simply intended on using her mouth - and later, other parts of her - to satisfy the most base and unsophisticated urges that he might have. And that was true. He did intend on doing that. But when he saw the glee on her face as she rolled up her sleeve, his chest pulled strangely. He cleared his throat and made his voice rough as he dragged his wand around her left forearm.

"Mordsmordre."

The Dark Mark appeared in an inky black flourish, and Bellatrix hissed in pain as it painted itself beneath her flesh. She stared at it as it faded through maroon to pink. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and her mouth had curled into a happy smile. Voldemort found himself studying her eyes again, looking at her slim nose and her cheekbones and her full lips. He examined the easy swell of her breasts over her low-cut tunic. He swallowed hard and pulled her sleeve down as he informed her,

"You may go. I'll call you through the Mark if I want you."

"Yes, Master. Thank you. Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix grinned, tears streaming silently down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. He wanted to mock her, to snap at her that he'd told her to go already. He wanted to kiss her.

"Go," he whispered again, his hand going unbidden to her cheek. His knuckles moved on their own to brush her tears away, and he said quietly, "I think I shall like having you about, Bellatrix Black. Now go."

She dipped into a deep and reverential gesture, a clumsy sort of curtsy, and she turned to walk quickly from Voldemort's office. Once she'd gone, he raked his fingers through his hair, the hair that was showing the first hints of grey, and he swallowed hard again.

She was nothing if not delicious, he thought. He would make very good use of her.

* * *

The Savoy Hotel, London

29 June 1970

Lord Voldemort paced through the elegantly-outfitted hotel suite like a caged animal. He'd been here for five days now, ordering Muggle food and staring out the window at the city where he'd been raised as one of them. He hadn't had a choice; the Ministry wanted his blood.

On the twenty-fourth of June, his plants in the Ministry had informed him that a raid on Malfoy Manor was imminent. The Auror Office wanted to bring him in, to put him before the Wizengamot on suspicion of attempting to overthrow the Ministry, on charges of past murders. They'd find him guilty and try and haul him off to Azkaban. But because Voldemort had been entirely unwilling to endure such a circus, he'd dashed off to London and had told his most loyal Death Eaters to send owls to find him when the heat had simmered down a bit.

On the twenty-sixth of June, he'd received communication from Abraxas Malfoy that the Manor had been raided, that nothing of note had been found and that the Aurors had been left frustrated and angry by their apparent inability to pin down Voldemort or to rake in any of his followers. Voldemort had written back that he'd be staying in London for a few weeks, just in case, and not to bother him unless something dire happened.

But today he felt agitated, like he was liable to punch the glass out of the window if he didn't find some sort of relief. He'd Conjured and Vanished. He'd Transfigured the curtains to one colour and then back again. He'd knocked himself out with Dreamless Sleep for a while. He'd even watched Muggle television - some ridiculous, surrealist 'comedy' called Monty Python. Nothing had helped to staunch the feeling that he was going to go mad in here if he stayed much longer. But he also knew that trotting back into the wizarding world was asking for trouble. He couldn't afford trouble. Not yet.

Finally, on the twenty-ninth of June, as the sun went down over the rooftops of the city, Voldemort pressed his wand to his own Dark Mark and Summoned her. Bellatrix Black. Her purpose was to serve his carnal needs, to make him feel relaxed. To help him find pleasure. He needed that just now. He desired her. He'd thought many times over the last five days about her on her knees, of the sight and smell of her. She'd been delicious, and he wanted her again.

He made his way to the suite's sitting area and sank into one of the cream-coloured armchairs as he stared at the wallpaper and waited for Bellatrix to arrive. She'd be able to Apparate straight in here at his Summons, and so he was unsurprised by the little pop behind him after awhile. He didn't turn round; he just held up one hand and beckoned to her with a finger.

Her footsteps plodded on the plush dark blue carpets as she walked around to the front of his chair, and she looked annoyingly pretty in a flowing black peasant-style dress that she'd belted with thick dark leather. Her hair had been tied loosely over one shoulder, and she smiled a little as she rubbed one black leather sandal over the carpet.

"My Lord," she acknowledged him, dipping a little. "I'm so very glad that you... that the raid on the Manor led to nothing."

"Hmm." He just nodded and gestured for the armchair opposite him. "Sit."

She did, and he tipped his head back as he shut his eyes. He remembered the file he'd had his Ministry plants compose for him. All the information he could ever want about Bellatrix Black, right there on paper.

"Born twenty-first September of nineteen fifty-one," he recited. "Younger sisters Andromeda and Narcissa. Childhood spent causing all manner of discord at home and then receiving quite a few behavioural citations as a Slytherin at Hogwarts. Not a Prefect by any stretch of the imagination. Was in Gobstones Club for a year until you discovered you weren't very good, then quit in a huff. Excelled in Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions despite an acrimonious relationship with nearly all your professors. Dated Rodolphus Lestrange throughout your sixth year and most of your seventh, with him severing the relationship this last February. You applied for a few Ministry positions and were denied all of them on the basis of personality, but you didn't really want them, anyway. Have I got it all right?"

He opened his eyes and lowered his gaze, drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair. Bellatrix looked self-conscious but nodded.

"You've got it all right, My Lord." She glanced around her, and he knew she was wondering where the blazes they were.

"It's a Muggle hotel," he murmured. "Laying low."

"Ah." She nodded. "That makes sense."

She turned her face to him again, her cheekbones going a little pink. Voldemort cleared his throat; he didn't like her staring so closely at him. He flicked his fingers through the air as he ordered her,

"Take your clothes off. No rush."

Her eyes went a little wide, but she obeyed him immediately. She rose to her feet and then bent to slowly peel off her black leather sandals. She unfastened the belt around her waist, and Voldemort could see that her hands were shaking like mad. She set the belt down behind her and pulled her black dress up and over her head. He was surprised to see that she had no bra on, though that made sense given the off-the-shoulder design of the dress. Still, it was brazen. She wore high-waisted black lace knickers that showed off her tiny waist and the little curve in her hip, and suddenly Voldemort felt his fingers cinch around the arms of the chair.

"Just... stand there a moment," he commanded her. She forced her hands down, away from her chest, and let herself be utterly bare to him. Her breasts were perfect, Voldemort decided at once. There was no other way to describe them, really. He wasn't being flattering in his own mind. They were really quite perfect. They were round and small with little perky pink nipples, and he wanted them. He wanted to touch them, to kiss them. So he rubbed at his thigh, ignoring the way she could plainly see the bulge of his burgeoning erection, and he said quietly,

"Come here. Come sit on my lap."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix ambled toward him and seemed a little confused about what exactly he meant. She started to sit with her back to him, but he grunted a little laugh and informed her,

"I am not Father Christmas. Like this, Bellatrix." He turned her round by her waist and pulled her down so that one knee was on each side of his hips. She gasped when her knickers ground against his erection, and Voldemort shut his eyes for a moment at how good it felt. He kept his eyes shut and let his fingers trail up her ribcage, his thumbs flicking at her nipples blindly. She moaned softly, and when he opened his eyes, Voldemort saw that her back had arched and her own hands had fisted at her sides. He impulsively leaned forward and clamped his mouth around one of her nipples, sucking a whole mouthful of her small breast into his mouth. She cried out, whether from pain or pleasure he neither knew nor cared. Her fingers bravely went to his shoulders, and Voldemort tore his face from her chest as he instructed her,

"Unbutton my shirt, Bella."

Her gaze flared at the sound of her truncated name. She started to unbutton the black dress shirt he wore beneath his outer robe, and then her hips circled a few times, seemingly driven by instinct. Voldemort dug his teeth into his bottom lip, and as Bellatrix pushed his shirt away, he reminded her,

"You fantasised about being tied up and pounded from behind. Rather a bold dream for a supposed virgin."

For a half-second, she looked offended about the 'supposed' verbiage, but then she whispered,

"Perhaps someday I can work my way up to such things, Master."

His mouth fell open then, for she was cheeky in a way he hadn't anticipated her being. Yet there was no intended disrespect or insubordination in her tone. She was just flirting with him, and he found he quite liked it.

To steady himself again, he pushed aside the crotch of her knickers and pressed his fingers against her satiny folds. He smirked at her when he felt the dewy warmth there, and he said in a taunting voice,

"I knew it. Drenched. Completely soaked. You little minx; you want it so badly, don't you?"

"I do, My Lord. I do want you." She nodded, and for some reason, the way she'd worded that reply made Voldemort's head spin. He found himself pulsing his fingers against her, gliding along her entrance and fiddling with her clit until her head tipped back and her palms pressed mindlessly against his chest. That chest began to heave as Voldemort grew more and more excited. Everything came alive within him; his veins were on fire with need as he asked hoarsely,

"Are you going to come, Bella?"

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix nodded frantically, her head falling forward. Impulsively and helplessly, Voldemort reached with his free hand to untie the ribbon that loosely bound her hair into a ponytail. She shook it out a little, letting it fall around her face. When she did, the heady smell of black pepper and vanilla combined and radiated from her, making Voldemort twitch beneath her. His fingers quickened, and he found himself staring straight into her wide, dark eyes as she neared her edge. Her eyes glazed over a little, and her lids started to flutter shut, and Voldemort heard his voice whisper,

"No. Look at me. I want to see your face when you come. Pretty little girl."

He added that last bit so he wouldn't sound like an infatuated boy. And when she did look at him again, he shot her a serious sort of glare and chided her,

"My hand is getting sore, so I suggest you hurry up, Bella."

"Mmph." She leaned forward a little, her hands tightening on his chest. Then he felt her snap; he felt her go slack as her face tipped back. He felt the walls of her womanhood clenching around his fingers, and he pulled his hand from her knickers as he instructed her,

"Take my cock out and play with it. I want to come on your stomach. Make it good."

She was still panting, still coming down from her high as she nodded desperately. She moved quickly to unbutton his trousers between them and to pull his throbbing length out. She nestled it against the front of her knickers, and suddenly Voldemort felt compelled to ask,

"What is your contraception situation? For future reference."

"An annual dose of Nongravidare Potion, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him. "Due again next January."

"Good." This wouldn't be any fun if she wound up with a bastard in her belly. He watched as she pumped her hand up and over his length. He groaned a little, quite against his will, for it felt good and he wanted more than that. He wanted to shove her knickers aside and plunge into her virgin body. He wanted to finish on her face. He wanted to kiss her.

No, he scolded himself at that last bit. Kissing her would be useless; he would derive no extra pleasure from kissing her. Still, as he stared at her shaking, rose-coloured lips, he wanted to taste them.

"Mmmph." He bucked his hips up hard, shoving his length up into her hand. He'd become entirely too stimulated by the sight of her undressing, by the taste of her breast, by the way she'd touched his chest, by the feel of her finishing atop him. He felt his pleasure go white-hot and throb between his ears as his seed leaped up and landed in ropes and trails along Bellatrix's flat stomach. She seemed at once shocked and amazed by the sight of it, and as it dribbled down onto the waistband of her knickers, Voldemort smirked and dragged it away with his thumb. He took a long moment to stare at the mess he'd made on her body, and then the image from her mind flooded his. Her wrists tied up, him plunging into her from behind.

And right now, right this minute, he wanted so very badly to kiss her. But that was too intimate, too personal, so he just pulled out his wand and cleaned her up and said very sternly,

"Get dressed and leave. Do not tell anyone where I am."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix scrambled off his lap, and he tucked his softened cock away as she pulled on her dress and belt. She must have forgotten about her black hair ribbon, for she left it sitting in Voldemort's lap. He crumpled it into his fist and dragged his thumb over it as she slid her shoes back on. She flashed him one last smile, and it took every bit of self-control for Voldemort not to fling himself to his feet, seize her face, and kiss her.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Black," he said in a bland voice instead. He nodded once and added crisply, "Your services are appreciated when boredom takes over. Good day."

"Good day, My Lord." Bellatrix Disapparated from where she stood, and Voldemort found himself wrenching his eyes shut once she'd gone. He should have kissed her, he thought. Then he was very glad he hadn't done such a silly thing. But he slid her hair ribbon through his fingers and was tempted to smell it, knowing it would smell like black pepper and vanilla just the way her hair did. Instead he set it on the little table beside him, rising from the chair and thinking that the Muggle Monty Python might be nice and distracting just now.

* * *

Chapter Text

Black Family Residence, London

5 July 1970

"Bellatrix, kindly eat your dinner. If you're going to live in this house, you're going to eat." Druella Black spooned pea soup into her own pursed lips and glared at her eldest daughter. Andromeda was too busy eating to react, but young Narcissa flashed Bellatrix a sorrowful look. Cygnus Black wasn't home; he was working late at Gringotts. Bellatrix stirred her soup and said in a bland tone,

"Perhaps if Marley figured out where the salt and pepper are located, the soup would be palatable, Mother. Until then, I find I have no particular appetite for soup. So sorry."

Now Andromeda and Narcissa both giggled a little, but Druella glared at them as she set her own spoon down. She turned to her eldest daughter and snapped,

"If you've some critique over the House-Elf's cooking, Bellatrix, by all means take it up with her yourself."

"Oh. Look. Here she comes now." Bellatrix gestured rather grandly toward the arched doorway into the dining-room. The ancient, stooped-backed House-Elf came toddling into the room, holding out a sealed scroll as she croaked,

"Miss Bellatrix, Miss. This came for you by owl, Miss. Just for you. Extra confidential, it says."

That wasn't strictly true, though the outside of the scroll did read, 'Miss Bellatrix Black - Private.' The wax was black, as was the ribbon binding the scroll together. There was no coat of arms or other distinctive seal. Bellatrix gulped as she broke the wax and unfurled the little scroll. A little silver key fell out, as though it had been glued to the parchment until it was opened. Bellatrix picked the key up and pinched it between her fingers, reading the paper with wide eyes.

I require that you be conveniently located whenever I should have want of you. Pack a trunk and take it to Number 27, Rosary Gardens in Kensington, London. The key is for Flat C, located on the third floor. Come immediately. - LV

Bellatrix memorised the address and then pulled out her wand, quickly Vanishing the parchment. She tucked the little key into her pocket and rose from where she sat. Her mother gave her a look of alarm, and both her sisters seemed bewildered.

"I... erm... I've got a place of my own, apparently," Bellatrix said, and when Druella looked confused, she specified, "Things are looking up! Didn't you say you wanted me to find a position and a home of my own after school?"

"Wait. Where are you going?" Druella demanded. Bellatrix cleared her throat and said simply,

"Kensington."

She hurried out of the dining-room and trotted quickly up the stairs to her bedroom. She threw open her trunk and started throwing things inside. Her cosmetics bags - makeup and perfume and toiletries. Sleakeasy's, ribbons, and her wooden combs. Her jewelry box. Several short dresses and a few longer gowns. Wide-legged trousers, leggings, and tunics. Knickers and bras and pyjamas. Flat, sensible boots and shiny high heels. A few books that she found interesting. At that point, she reckoned she had everything interesting, and she seized the handle of her trunk and gripped her wand carefully in her hand.

She remembered the Three D's of Apparition - Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. She was very deliberate and determined as she thought of the third floor of Number 27, Rosary Gardens, Kensington, London. She repeated the address in her mind a few times and then whirled to her right, disappearing with a crack from her parents' house before anyone could come up to her room.

When the world came back into being around her, she glanced around and saw the elegant interior of a Georgian red brick townhouse that had been divided into flats. She was standing at the landing of the winding stairs, looking at the only door on the level. It was white and had a brass C upon it. Bellatrix pulled her key out of her pocket with shaking fingers and put it into the keyhole. She turned the black iron knob and pushed the door open, and when she stepped inside, she found the place was already illuminated by electric Muggle bulbs. She put her heavy trunk down beside the front door, which she shut and locked behind her. She walked slowly through the entryway, down to the end where she found open doorways leading into two rooms. One was a parlour, a small sitting-room with jade green wallpaper and white wood accents. There was green furniture and green draperies - the place was almost overwhelmingly green. The other room was a bedroom in a lovely shade of blue. The bed was wide and high, and Bellatrix could see a black-and-white en suite bathroom through the far side of the room.

She turned round, a grin on her face, and passed a small W.C. She continued down the corridor, finally turning right into the kitchen. She dragged her fingers over the butcher block countertops and glanced at the heavy wooden table by the bay window. Her heart raced as she wondered if this place belonged to him.

"It's yours. In a manner of speaking."

Bellatrix whirled around and gasped, feeling shocked by the way he seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Perhaps he had done so. She wasn't entirely sure what he was capable of doing. He walked up to Bellatrix and loomed over her, and only now did she realise she didn't even quite reach his shoulder.

"Hello, My Lord." Her voice was wispy to her own ears, which went hot as she asked, "What do you mean... it's mine? You wish for me to stay here?"

"Yes." Lord Voldemort glanced around and folded his arms over his chest, tipping his head down at Bellatrix. "It isn't a gift, you understand. It's compensation... or, rather, putting you in the right conditions to do your job properly."

He flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form, and she gulped as she tried to remember just who he was. He was a murderer, they all said. He was an aspirational dictator. A madman. But he was devastatingly handsome, and as Bellatrix remembered the feel of his fingers on her, she felt her breath quicken between her lips. Voldemort dragged his top teeth over his bottom lip and asked quietly,

"Are you ready to do your job properly, Miss Black?"

"Of course, My Lord," she nodded. He sniffed and gestured into the L-shaped kitchen, and he said plainly,

"Make us tea."

Bellatrix frowned in confusion. Tea? With magic, she wondered? Probably not. She kept her eyes down and moved through the kitchen in a daze, searching out a kettle and filling it with water from the taps. She put it on the electric coil burner and futzed with the knobs until she found the right one and managed to heat up the burner. Then she rifled through the cupboards until she found two teacups and saucers. She found a battered-looking tin that had teabags in it, and she carefully arranged one in each cup. She murmured over her shoulder,

"Milk or sugar, Master?"

"Neither," he said, his voice tight. The kettle whistled loudly from the stove, and Bellatrix tried to keep her hands steady as she clutched the handle and filled up the teacups. She overfilled one, for she was inexperienced with such tasks, and she swore quietly as she set the kettle down and reached for her wand.

"Tergeo," she whispered, and the extra water was siphoned up. She turned round and gave Voldemort an uncertain look as she asked, "A biscuit or... anything else, Master?"

"No." He stepped quickly up to the counter, picked up his steeping cup of tea, and met Bellatrix's eyes. Then he dropped the teacup, quite deliberately, and Bellatrix gasped. Then it Vanished, gone by the power of his wandless magic before it could hit the floor. Bellatrix huffed out a breath of surprise, and Voldemort Vanished the rest of the tea paraphernalia. She scoffed in alarm, but he smirked and informed her,

"I can Vanish anything I want, Bellatrix. I didn't want to drink the tea; I just wanted to watch you make it. You understand?"

She did. She did understand, so she nodded. He was all-powerful, even with her. Especially with her. Bellatrix swallowed hard and told him,

"I'll brew up all tea you like, My Lord, if it makes you happy. I'd do anything if it made you happy."

"Is that what you want? You want to make me happy?" Voldemort was quite serious then as he backed Bellatrix up toward the kitchen wall. She nodded as her back hit the rose-patterned wallpaper, and she pressed her palms against the wall. Voldemort nudged ever closer to her, lowering his face until his lips were so close that Bellatrix could practically taste them. His fingers trailed up the inside of her leg, and he mumbled to her,

"You wear skirts this short, Miss Black, and all manner of men will be ogling my property."

"Longer skirts in future, then, Master," Bellatrix nodded. He pulled his hand up a little farther, his throat bobbing visibly as he curled up half his mouth.

"I like you, Bella. You amuse me." He dragged his tongue over his lower lip, and Bellatrix struggled to keep his eyes open. He pulled his fingers ever higher and whispered, "You know what else amuses me?"

"No, Master. What amuses you?" Bellatrix's voice shook like a leaf, and her palms were sweaty against the wallpaper. Voldemort let out a dark little laugh, and he tipped his head as he answered her,

"The fact that I know... I just know... what I'm going to find in your knickers." His fingers pulled the crotch of her satin knickers aside, and his throat bobbed again as he rubbed circles on her clit with his thumb. Bellatrix gasped and bucked her hips forward, and he nodded. "Mmm-hmm. Completely soaking wet. That's what I knew I'd find. Are you aroused by Vanished tea sets, Bella?"

"I'm aroused by you, My Lord," Bellatrix answered honestly. He met her eyes more directly then, and she couldn't help but stare into the dark depth of his gaze. But he shook his head, his thumb stilling as he insisted,

"It doesn't matter what arouses you. All that matters is what arouses me, Bellatrix. You belong to me, for the purposes of giving me pleasure. You know that."

"I know that," she repeated, suddenly wanting nothing more than for him to kiss her. Instead, she found herself screaming and throwing her head back against the wall, for he'd shoved two fingers roughly into her. The barrier of her virginity had fought back just hard enough that it had hurt, really and truly. Bellatrix wrenched her eyes shut and felt tears squeeze their way out. Somehow Voldemort managed to shove a third finger into her, and when he started to pump them, Bellatrix shrieked in agony.

It burned like fire as he broke her in like a new leather shoe. He twisted and pulled, pushing and yanking as his breath turned into shallow pants. He ground his erection hard against Bellatrix's abdomen, and within a few moments, the searing pain started to transition into something deeper and significantly more pleasant. Bellatrix's face fell forward, but she managed to raise her eyes to meet Voldemort's. His face twisted and he bucked his hips hard against Bellatrix a few times, his breath huffing out a few unintelligible words.

He wrenched his fingers out of Bellatrix's body, and suddenly she felt empty and hungry and buzzing with energy all at once. He stared at his hand, and Bellatrix followed his gaze to his fingers. She was a little embarrassed to see traces of blood in the fluids that coated his skin. She gulped hard and pulled out her wand, whispering a Tergeo and a Scourgify to clean up his hand. He smirked at her and jutted out his chin imperiously.

"How about the other mess?"

Bellatrix was confused until Voldemort flicked his eyes down to the front of his robes. Suddenly Bellatrix understood, and her cheeks went hot as flames as she cleaned up the trousers where he'd spilled himself. Then she realised what had happened. He'd found his climax just from the sensation of plunging three fingers roughly into her unpractised entrance. That made Bellatrix's body come more alive than ever, and she struggled not to squirm against the wall. He took her wand and tucked it back into the holster at her hip, and he put a hand on either side of her head. He stared down at her for what felt like an eternity, and finally he lowered his face like he meant to kiss her.

He stopped, though, with his lips a half breath away from hers, and he teased her,

"You want to me to kiss you."

"I want to make you happy," Bellatrix said again. He moved so close then that she could feel the rough texture of his lips brushing hers as he scoffed and scolded her,

"Do not lie to me. You want me to kiss you. But it doesn't matter what you want, does it?"

"No, Master," Bellatrix breathed somehow. She shut her eyes then, for she felt his knuckles grazing from her shoulder up her neck, and she shivered where she stood. Voldemort dragged his lips along hers, making no movement to really kiss her. Then he pulled away, and Bellatrix thought she was going to faint. She was so wound up, so tense and tight and hungry, and she fought hard to find Voldemort's eyes. Finally she did, and murmured,

"Tomorrow. Eight o'clock. Dinner. At the Savoy. Don't be late. Dress elegantly."

He pushed off the wall and started to walk away, and Bellatrix was so breathless that it took everything she had to call after him,

"Wait! My Lord."

He turned round, his hand on the threshold of the kitchen, and cocked up an eyebrow. Bellatrix shrugged.

"What is the Savoy?"

He laughed then and informed her, "It's where I'm staying these few weeks. The grill downstairs is the finest Muggle restaurant in London. This is not a date, you understand. I find myself quite sick and tired of eating room service, of staying holed up in my suite. But neither can I go back into the wizarding world until the heat from the Ministry is off. So I will be dining in the grill tomorrow night at eight o'clock, and I shall have a smartly-dressed woman with me. Am I understood?"

Bellatrix nodded, thinking now that it was entirely certain she would lose consciousness. Somehow she managed to whisper,

"Tomorrow at the Savoy. Eight o'clock. I'll be on time. I'll be dressed elegantly."

"Good girl, Bella." Voldemort flicked his eyes up and down her body again, his throat tightening visibly before he nodded and and said, "Night, then."

"Goodnight, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, but he'd already Disapparated.

* * *

The Savoy Hotel

6 July 1970

"Here you are, Miss."

The Muggle cab driver pulled up on the Strand and turned over his shoulder as he said politely,

"Fifty pence total, Miss."

Bellatrix swallowed hard and opened her black velvet clutch. She'd found a stash of Muggle money, thousands and thousands of pounds, in a drawer in the kitchen. It had obviously been left for times such as this. Unsure of how many pence were in a pound, Bellatrix picked out a one pound coin and handed it up to the cab driver. He started to make change, but she said quietly,

"Keep it."

"Thank you, Miss." The cab driver scrambled from the driver's side and made his way round to the passenger side of the car. He opened Bellatrix's door, and she tried not to slip on the rain-slicked road as she nodded her thanks and hustled past him. The doorman at the Savoy opened the north entrance doors, and once again she just nodded her thanks.

She'd worn an off-the-shoulder black gown in wispy chiffon, with her shiny black pumps and white satin gloves that reached her elbows. She'd worn a strand of fine pearls round her neck and pearl studs in her ears, and she had her curly hair piled atop her head carefully. She held her black velvet clutch in one hand as she stepped into the boisterous lobby of the Savoy.

"Good evening, Miss," said the Muggle concierge, taking her by surprise and making her jolt. She must have looked quite alarmed, for he asked, "May I help you at all tonight?"

"Erm... the Grill. The Grill Room?" Bellatrix knew she probably sounded like a fool, but the concierge smiled warmly and gestured behind her. "Just that way, Miss. Pleasant evening to you."

"You, too," Bellatrix mumbled, though in truth she couldn't care less whether a Muggle had a pleasant evening or not. She started toward the Grill, panicking when she saw the maitre d'. It wasn't quite eight, and she had no name to give for a reservation. She paused just outside the doors, and then suddenly a hand was at the small of her back and lips were beside her ear.

"You look good enough to eat."

"Master." Bellatrix turned her face to see him appraising her, and he threw one eyebrow up, seeming very impressed as he took in her entire appearance. She studied him right back, taking in his classic tuxedo and feeling a rush of want. Bellatrix found herself saying quietly, "You look so handsome."

She'd sounded a little desperate then, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. He cleared his throat and guided her toward the maitre d'. For some reason, his hand felt wondrous on her lower back. It was like he was being protective and possessive at the same time, and Bellatrix resisted the urge to grin like a fool at him. She stood with her eyes down as Voldemort said to the Muggle,

"Party of two for eight o'clock. The name is Riddle."

Riddle. That was odd. Bellatrix frowned a little as the host took two card stock menus and led them off to a round two-top table. When they sat, Bellatrix took her menu and listened as Voldemort ordered them waters and a bottle of Beaujolais wine. The host and waiter took off, and Bellatrix murmured softly,

"Riddle. That's a funny name."

"You think so?" He glared at her over his menu, and for a moment, Bellatrix was very afraid of him. Then his dark eyes softened just a little, and he scoffed. "You're right. It's a ridiculous name, but they needed one to hold the reservation, and I couldn't very well... anyway. Let me know what you'll be having."

Bellatrix studied the menu. It was a three-course prix fixe menu, so she had no option of ordering the cheapest choice. She cleared her throat a little and finally said,

"I would like, perhaps... the greens salad and the duck breast with cherry. Thank you."

"Hmm." Voldemort pursed his lips, and before she could ask what was wrong, he shrugged and shut his menu. "Great minds and all that."

Bellatrix was still a little confused, until the waiter came back and took their order.

"Two greens salads and two of the duck breast," Voldemort said firmly. Then Bellatrix understood. They'd chosen the same thing. The waiter took their menus and walked off, and when the sommelier came to give them a sample of the wine, Bellatrix found herself studying Voldemort's face far more carefully than she'd ever done before.

He looked at once youthful and old, she thought as he sipped the wine and then nodded. He was in his early or mid forties, she knew, though she didn't know his specific age, nor his birthday. She only knew a scant few things about him. He liked power. He liked Beaujolais wine. He liked greens salads. He liked duck breast with cherries. He liked to have his cock sucked.

"Miss?"

Bellatrix jerked her face up and just nodded at the sommelier, who had an expectant look on his chubby face. She wasn't sure what she was nodding about, but the sommelier poured her a wide glass of rich red wine, and she smiled a little as he scurried away.

"To dinners that are most assuredly not dates," Bellatrix said, holding up her wine glass. Voldemort smirked and sipped from his own glass. Bellatrix took a sip and savoured the deep flavour, setting down the glass and folding her hands in her lap. She glanced around at the restaurant, at the pianist in the corner and the tables of ten raucously talking Muggles. She studied her environs for so long that she didn't realise Voldemort had been staring at her the whole while. When at last she turned her face back to him, he pinched his lips and said tightly,

"The thirty-first of December."

"I beg your pardon, My Lord?" Bellatrix was confused, but he just nodded and said,

"My... my birth date. It's the thirty-first of December. Nineteen twenty-six, if you must know that bit."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open a little, and she wondered just how often he'd been inside of her head without noticing.

"All the time, though Legilimency is not a simple game of mind-reading," he said. He lowered his gaze and touched his napkin to his lips as he noted, "At some point, you'll need to learn Occlumency. I do not wish for my enemies, should they get ahold of you, to see such sensitive imagery of me."

"Of course not, Master. I'll... erm... I'll try to learn it. Occlumency." Bellatrix tried not to chew her red lipstick off in her nervousness. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said,

"Silly girl. Not just anyone can teach you. I'll make time; you seem like a quick enough learner."

"Oh." Bellatrix was about to say something else on the matter, but their salads arrived. It was spinach and arugula with caramelised red onion and shaved radish and a simple vinaigrette, but it was still tasty. Bellatrix ate hers in silence, trying not to think of much since her mind apparently was not entirely her own. She finished her salad and set her fork down, reminding herself that this was not a date. She was not here to chit-chat, to make idle conversation. She was here so that the Dark Lord would not be sitting alone at a table during his exile from the Magical world. She was here to make him happy, whatever that meant.

"There's dancing afterward," he said offhandedly, and Bellatrix stared at him with parted lips. She ignored the Muggle waiter as he cleared their salad plates. She kept her eyes trained on Lord Voldemort. Once the waiter had gone, Voldemort sniffed and shrugged as he noted, "Every night I hear a Muggle jazz band playing after dinner hours end. They... people dance for hours."

"Do they?" Bellatrix wasn't exactly certain what the right response to that revelation was. Voldemort himself seemed to get a grip on himself then, shoving his plate away a little and saying firmly,

"Perhaps, if some other night before I leave here, I find myself quite bored, I might summon you to come in dance-appropriate attire and entertain me for a few hours."

"Whatever you command, Master," Bellatrix nodded. A passing waiter heard that, flashing Bellatrix a confused and concerned look as he went by. Voldemort rolled his eyes and held his hand out a little. The waiter vibrated where he stood, and Bellatrix knew that Voldemort had Confounded the waiter to think of something else.

"Do me a favour, will you?" Voldemort snarled quietly. "Lay off the Master bit in their public, hmm? Last thing I need is one of their constables giving me a damned inquisition to ensure I don't own you or something."

"But you do own me," she whispered, and he narrowed his eyes.

"To them, that's illegal. Stop talking about it. Now."

"All right." Bellatrix lowered her eyes to her lap, and after awhile Voldemort snapped,

"Entirely too long between courses. The salads were cleared ten minutes ago; the duck should have been out by now. Ridiculously lax service for such an esteemed... oh."

His complaining was cut short by the arrival of the waiter with a covered platter. He peeled back the metal cover and set down a plate of duck in front of both Voldemort and Bellatrix.

"May I get you anything else?" The waiter was being snippy now, and Bellatrix knew he'd heard Voldemort complaining. Why hadn't Voldemort known that the waiter was near, if he could so easily get into people's heads? But then Bellatrix realised he probably entered specific minds at will. It wasn't as though he could just hear everything everyone was thinking all the time.

"Nothing else," Voldemort said primly, shaking his head. He waited for Bellatrix to pick up her fork and knife, and once she cut herself a bite of duck and dipped it into the cherry sauce, he started to eat. He was watching her, she knew, and she tried her best to look feminine. It was difficult, given that she was slicing up duck breast that had been slightly overdone. She ate some of the asparagus on the side and a few bites of duck and then found herself quite full.

"Not sure I'll have room for dessert," she admitted. When she saw Voldemort's cold eyes, she amended, "I'll happily sit here whilst you eat it, though."

"No." He shook his head and set his knife and fork down. He dabbed at his lips again and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He took out a few bills of Muggle money and set them down on the table, and he told her, "I don't want ice cream, Bellatrix. Nor cake. I want... a different sort of dessert."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm, and she wondered if he meant to take her up to his suite. She remembered the sight of it, and he must have been in her mind then, for he shook his head and informed her,

"You're not coming upstairs. Not tonight. I'm putting you in a taxi back to your flat."

"You are?" Bellatrix felt quite confused, and when Voldemort nodded, he glanced down at the money on the table and said firmly,

"Come."

When Bellatrix rose, he swept his hand to the small of her back again. He pressed more firmly this time than he did on the way in, but the gesture still felt so protective and possessive that Bellatrix got dizzy. He led her out of the restaurant and through the lobby to the north entrance of the hotel. Bellatrix stared out at the rain that was coming down in a steady vertical sheet, wishing she possessed the ability to wandlessly waterproof herself. She didn't dare ask Voldemort to do it.

"Bella," she heard him say, so quietly that she could hardly hear him over the lobby pianist and the hum of conversation. She met his dark eyes, and he reminded her, "This was not a date."

She nodded. "I know, My Lord. Thank you, just the same."

He shook his head but said nothing. He raised his eyes to the door and suddenly seemed to make up his mind about something. He seized Bellatrix's hand in his, and as he walked quickly toward the door, the Muggle doorman asked,

"May I hail you a taxi, sir?"

"No. I'll do it myself," Voldemort growled. The doorman looked perplexed, but Voldemort barreled past him through the door into the rain, dragging Bellatrix behind him. He led her half a block down the Strand through the pouring rain, and then suddenly she found herself pressed against the outside of the building between street lamps. It was dark and quiet here, and rain dripped from Voldemort's hair down onto Bellatrix's face as he hovered over her.

"Tonight was just to entertain me," he said, but his voice shook a little. Bellatrix shivered where she stood, for the rain was a bit chilly, but she agreed,

"I was only here to please you, My Lord. It's all I ever want to do."

"I know." He lowered his face to hers then, pressing his lips hard against hers without warning. Bellatrix squealed with surprise and raised her wet, gloved hands up to his cheeks on impulse. She gasped as he took her waist in his own hands, and he used the opportunity to plunge his tongue between her lips.

She'd kissed Rodolphus Lestrange countless times when they'd been lovestruck children at Hogwarts, but this was different. Rodolphus had been boyish and clumsy. Lord Voldemort was nothing of the sort. He was powerful here, standing with her against a building in the rain, his mouth crushed against hers and his tongue dragging on the roof of her mouth. He pulled her lip between his teeth for a moment and then pressed his lips gently to hers to finish it all off.

She panted wildly as he took a half step away and held his arm in the air. For a second, Bellatrix was confused, but then she saw that he was hailing an approaching taxi. The black cab pulled up alongside the edge of the Strand, and Voldemort stared at Bellatrix through the rain for a moment. Then he walked over to the car and opened the rear passenger door. He took a few coins out of his wallet and passed them through the cab to the driver as Bellatrix approached. She was dizzy and warm and wanting so much more as she slid onto the leather seat, thinking she ought to apologise for getting the cab all wet.

Voldemort stood on the other side of the door, sopping wet in his tuxedo. His eyes flicked up and down her body as though he were photographing her with his mind, and he nodded once.

"Goodnight," he said crisply, shutting the taxi door before she had a chance to answer.

"Twenty-seven Rosary Gardens, please," Bellatrix murmured, staring into the taxi's side mirror as they pulled away. Lord Voldemort turned from the sidewalk and quickly walked back toward the north entrance of the Savoy, and Bellatrix's stomach fluttered as she realised she could still taste him on her lips.

* * *

Chapter Text

The Savoy Hotel, London

7 July 1970

... I have attached a copy of the Undesirable poster for your reference. At the present time, there is elevated energy and interest within the Ministry in the interest of your capture. While the Manor seems secure, and you are always welcome in my home (or, indeed, any of our homes), I can not guarantee that the Ministry is not monitoring the place. Please do advise whether we will be seeing you in the near future, Master, or if you intend on continuing to lay low until the Ministry grows complacent. I'm sure you know what my humble advice would be. Know that we all remain your eager, loyal, and devoted servants and that none of your inner circle has betrayed you in any way. I remain your slave entirely - Abraxas Malfoy.

Lord Voldemort set the letter from Malfoy down and turned his attention to the Undesirable poster, which showed a photograph of him from years earlier - the most recent rendering the Ministry had been able to cull. The poster stated that the man calling himself Lord Voldemort was wanted for torture, murder, and conspiracy and treason against the Ministry of Magic. Those were serious charges, ones that would earn Voldemort a Dementor's Kiss if the Ministry had their way.

He'd written back to Malfoy, insisting that his plants in the Ministry get to work Imperiusing fellow employees to take the heat off him as quickly as possible. He'd also said he would be remaining in hiding (he did not specify where) until further notice, and that he wanted a summary of relevant information and news by owl every other day.

Now it was nearly midnight, and Voldemort paced in his suite, feeling so trapped he thought he might start breaking furniture to occupy himself. Instead he straightened his black tie round his neck and glanced into a mirror to ensure that he looked relatively neat, and he left his suite and locked it behind him.

He wasn't sure why he didn't just Apparate. Actually, he did know why. He needed the walk. It was an hour's stroll through night-clad London from the Savoy to her Kensington flat. As Voldemort rode the lift downstairs and nodded briskly to its operator, he realised that he was comforted by the thought of spending time with her. Even if it was just physical, even if she was like a toy to him, she still made him feel relaxed and contented with her mere presence.

She was intriguing, Voldemort thought as he strolled down the sidewalks through Knightsbridge. She had, by all accounts, spent her life being sharp and unpleasant to people. Eye-rolling was a specialty of hers, her teachers had all said. Snapping at authority figures, ignoring her fellow pupils, procrastinating, losing her temper in explosive fits of rage. By everyone's opinion, she was brash and unpredictable. But that was not the Bellatrix Black that Lord Voldemort knew.

For him, she was quiet, demure. Shy and servile, eager to please. Predictable. For him, she was a different person that she was for everyone else. And perhaps he was different for her, too. With another person, he would have never done anything like he'd done the night before. He'd never kissed a witch properly, because it had always seemed like far too intimate a gesture to carry out. He'd rutted a few girls at Hogwarts who'd crushed hard on him. He'd taken them roughly in spare classrooms. Later, there had been a few witches who had come into Borgin and Burke's and flirted so aggressively that he'd fucked them in the broom closet.

But there was something different about Bellatrix Black. She'd made him want her, crave her, desire her. She'd made it feel good to press her back against the building exterior in the Strand. She'd tasted like vanilla, like black pepper. She'd tasted the same way she'd smelled, and that had been so intoxicating that Voldemort had torn himself from her and hailed her a taxi and practically thrown her into it. Otherwise he would have moaned into her mouth. He would have touched her face; he would have whispered her name in the rain. And none of that would have been good.

As he walked past the front of the Muggle Queen's palace, Lord Voldemort thought distantly that someday he'd be even grander than she was. Buckingham Palace was impressive, and all the pomp surrounding Queen Elizabeth was elaborate. But Lord Voldemort intended on being properly worshipped. He would be more like a god than a king, if one were to use a Muggle lens. Suddenly he paused, staring up at Buckingham Palace and imagining himself with an adoring crowd before him. And beside him was Bellatrix Black, battle-hardened and kissed to shreds by him. He shut his eyes for a moment and sighed before continuing on through Green Park toward Belgravia.

Even in the middle of the night, Muggle London had life. Televisions were on inside the row houses. Pubs blared rock music, and loud laughter and conversation leached out into the streets. Voldemort couldn't fault the Muggles for their joie de vivre. He'd only seen it rivaled in wizarding New York, where raucous night clubs played music until sunrise. Diagon Alley, and even Knockturn Alley, would be dank and quiet right now, he knew. Hogsmeade was sleeping.

He finally came to the corner of Old Brompton Road and Rosary Gardens, veering right and staring up at the third floor of number twenty-seven. Her lights were off. She was sleeping. He didn't care.

He unlocked the main door of the townhouse and then patterned up three flights of winding stairs, feeling mildly winded and taking a moment to catch his breath on the landing. As he stepped up to the flat he'd bought for her, he felt the dull buzz of her wards against him and smirked. Smart girl, to ward herself up where she was living alone. He slashed his wand through the air and tore her wards apart, knowing that his magic was far stronger than hers could ever be. He unlocked the door with the simple charm all first-year Hogwarts students learned and pushed it open, shutting it behind him.

"Lumos," said a voice from down the corridor, and suddenly her figure came dashing out of her bedroom, sprinting down the corridor in the milky, pulsing blue light of her wand. Voldemort curled up half his mouth and adjusted his own grip on his wand, ready for any defensive spells she might whip blindly toward him. But as she approached him, the bright wandlight she was holding out bathed him, and he cocked up an eyebrow at her. She lowered her wand at once, her face looking awestruck, and when Voldemort reached for the light switch on the wall, he heard her whisper, "Nox."

He stared at her for a moment, amused and aroused by the short, tight nightgown she had on. It was black lace and satin, clinging to her pretty body like a glove. Her hair had been tied into a thick braid down her back. Voldemort found himself hungry all of a sudden, and as he raised his eyes to her, he said in mock apology,

"I am sorry for the inconvenient work hours, Miss Black."

"It's no trouble at all, Master," she replied, her perfect breasts rising and falling as she recovered from the shock of thinking someone had broken into her flat. He'd awakened her; he could see that plainly enough by the way her eyes were still bleary with sleep. He didn't care.

"Go back into your room. Take the nightgown off. Knickers, too. Untie your hair. Wait for me on the bed," he commanded her. She bowed her head for a moment, a little gesture of respect that felt just right, and she turned and padded barefoot down the narrow corridor.

Voldemort's throat felt a little tight as he watched her go. She was pretty. Very pretty. So very pretty. His breath shook more than he wanted as he locked up the door and warded it more thoroughly. Then he took his time following her to the bedroom, pausing to loosen his tie and pull it off over his head. He kept the slip knot in it and clutched it in his hand, and when he walked into her bedroom, he set the tie on the brocade coverlet.

She looked frighteningly pretty reclined on the pillows like some sort of princess. She wasn't anything of the sort, he knew, but, still, she was lovely. He unbuttoned his suit jacket as he stared at her, avoiding her eyes as he tossed it over the top of her dresser. He sniffed lightly as he pulled his suspenders down and unbuttoned his black pinstripe trousers, and he unfastened and pushed away his shirt. He stripped methodically, folding his clothes and not caring that she could see his half-hard cock growing more firm by the moment.

Once he was naked, he stepped up alongside the bed, trailing his fingers from her knee to her hip. She shivered a little, and finally he couldn't force himself to keep from looking her in the eye. Her gaze locked onto his and her fists tightened a little as he dragged his palm up her stomach and squeezed at a breast.

"I came here to fuck you," he informed her crisply, and she swallowed hard before she whispered,

"If that's what you want, My Lord, then you may do it, of course."

"I know that," he snapped, squeezing her breast so roughly that she whimpered. "You belong to me; you think I forget that bit?"

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't mean... I phrased that wrong. What I meant was that I willingly and happily accept my duties. My service to you is completed with joy. That is what I meant. I'm sorry."

He released her breast and dragged his knuckles back down her front. He let the pads of his fingers go between her legs and felt that she'd already flushed wet there. Of course she had; she was a proper whore when it came to wanting him. She wouldn't bleed, he knew. It probably wouldn't even hurt that badly. He'd stuffed three fingers into her and pounded them back and forth in her entrance two days earlier. That should have taken care of any resistance her body might be inclined to give him. She was still a virgin to his cock, but she'd take him just fine. She wanted him; she was wet. He'd stretched her. This would be easy.

"Hands and knees," he growled, and when she hesitated a half second too long, he shoved at her hip and barked, "Get on your hands and knees. Are you defiant, deaf, or stupid, Bellatrix? Hands and knees. Now."

She moved then, scrambling to roll over. Voldemort climbed up onto the bed, grabbing his tie from where he'd set it down. He snatched at one of her hands and then the other, sending her crashing downward until her face was burrowed into the blankets. He slid his tie over her hands and yanked at the knot, tightening it around her wrists. Bellatrix moaned like a harlot, and Voldemort couldn't help but smirk. He shoved her thighs apart and lined himself up, and then he pushed in.

He groaned, unable to stop himself from doing so, at the feeling of burying himself to the hilt within her. She was wet and warm and very tight, and it felt so good that he had to pause to keep from spilling himself right then and there. She felt like a slick, warm sleeve around him, and as he started to pump his hips, he wrenched his eyes shut and fought hard not to whisper her name.

He finally realised it wasn't going to last long no matter what he did. He gripped her narrow hips in his hands and opened his eyes, watching as he pulled her away and backed his hips up. Then he slammed himself forward and wrenched her back against him. He repeated this, harder the second time and even harder the third. Then, before he knew what was happening, he was moving like a jackhammer, pounding her so vigorously that he distantly thought it probably hurt. He didn't care.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He was breathless as he taunted her, and she sounded dizzy and drunk as she moaned back,

"Yes, Master." Her voice was muffled by the blankets as he careened into her over and over again. He could feel her body going tight and knew she was about to come around his cock. He sped up his motions and fucked her harder than ever through her climax, hearing the steady whine of her voice as she half-whispered,

"Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, My Lord. Please."

"Please what?" His voice was just a gravelly pant now, and his hands cinched around her hips as her backside slapped against his pelvis. "Please what, Bellatrix?"

"I... don't know," she admitted. "Mmmph."

She liked this. She liked this more than she could articulate, and for some reason, he cared. For some reason, it made Voldemort swell up inside of her to think that she liked it, that his cock was eliciting those kinds of moans, that he'd caused that strong of a climax. She did worship him, just like he wanted everyone to do. Suddenly he was coming inside of her, clenching her hips and gritting his teeth and letting out a feral roar as white-hot pleasure swept over him.

"Bellatrix," he heard himself whisper before he could catch himself. Finally he gulped and shut his eyes and listened to her frantic breathing against the blankets. He pulled himself out of her and felt a stream of his seed follow. He shivered at that and pulled his tie from her wrists, pushing her gently until she lay on her back. He reached for his wand and quickly siphoned and cleaned between her legs. Then he noticed that half her face and one shoulder had been badly rug burned by the brocade coverlet. He must have been positively drilling her against the blankets, he realised, but she hadn't complained in the slightest. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Episkey," he said quietly, and the spell quickly healed up the scuffs as she murmured her thanks. She stared at him for a moment, finally averting her eyes as she asked in a hoarse voice,

"My Lord, may I get you some water?"

He scoffed quietly and said in far too forgiving a tone, "Yes, Bellatrix, you may have some water. Get me one, too. Put your nightgown on; I'll meet you in the kitchen."

"Yes, Master." She scurried off the bed, doing a fine job of masking the way he knew she must be sore and achy between her unpractised legs. But she was happy, too, he could tell. As she pulled on her skimpy nightgown, she flashed him a little smile that told him everything he needed to know. She was grateful for this servitude. Being the one to satisfy him, to bring him carnal happiness, made her feel important. Far more importantly, it made her feel like she was serving him properly. He could read all that in the flash of her eyes, in the way her full pout had become a peaceful smile. He just chewed hard upon his bottom lip and nodded once toward her, turning and starting to get dressed.

He pulled on his underwear and trousers, then tucked and buttoned his shirt. He pulled up his suspenders and pulled on his jacket and shoes, and finally he stared at his black tie in his hand. He remembered the way she'd left a hair ribbon in his suite at the Savoy. He still wasn't sure whether she'd forgotten it or left it on purpose. He didn't care, really. He liked to touch it sometimes.

He swallowed hard and left the tie sitting on the pillow where it seemed like she'd been sleeping. He wasn't sure why he didn't leave it on the dresser, or take it out to the kitchen, or just put it back on. But he left it on her bed, and he walked briskly from the bedroom.

In the kitchen, he wordlessly accepted a cut-glass tumbler of water from her and swigged the water down. She dragged her thumb over the rim of her own empty glass and stared down into it as she asked,

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Master?"

He carefully considered what he was going to say next. He cleared his throat at last and informed her,

"I have to continue to lay low for the time being. My days are dull; my nights needn't be. I should like tomorrow to go listen to some music and drink cocktails. At the Savoy."

It wasn't a question or an invitation; it was a statement. And he hadn't asked her to go dancing. He wanted to drink and sit with her. That was all. She smiled down into her glass a little as she murmured,

"Don't worry, Master. I know it isn't a date."

"No, it isn't," he snapped, but he set his glass down on the butcher block counter and seized hers from her. Once his hands were free, he put them on either side of her face, feeling the soft skin of her cheeks beneath his fingers as he realised he'd fully intended on never touching her here. She stared up at him, wide-eyed with hope and gratitude, and it was too much. He kissed her, a little harder than he'd done the night before, and he felt the vibration of her moan in response. That made his fingers tighten on her face, and when his tongue started to tangle with hers, he sighed with a low buzz starting somewhere in the bottom of his chest.

She tasted perfect - sweet and spicy at once. She smelled perfect, like sex mingling with innocence. She felt soft and hard at the same time. She was a rebel, a snarky misanthropist with a bad attitude. She was his most unquestioning, most thankful servant.

But tomorrow wouldn't be a date, Voldemort reassured himself, bringing one hand to the small of her back and pressing his lips softly against hers. He kissed her again, wanting more of her, promising himself that she was just his personal whore. Bellatrix was whimpering quietly now, for he'd pulled away a bit, and he thought he needed to stop before they wound up spending the whole night with her wrapped in his arms. That wouldn't do.

"Thank you for the water," he said meaningfully, stepping back from her and pulling out his wand. He took down his wards and said over his shoulder, "I'll ward it back up from the outside, more strongly this time."

"Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed her head a little and then asked carefully, "Where shall I meet you tomorrow, and what time?"

"Eight o'clock," he said simply. "In the hotel's cabaret."

"Very good, Master. I shall be on time. Dressed properly." She smiled demurely again, and it took far too much effort not to stride back into the kitchen and kiss her one more time. He remembered the tie on her bed and wondered if he ought to go fetch it. Instead he just nodded and said in a voice that sounded too gentle to his own ears,

"Goodnight, Miss Black."

"Goodnight, My Lord," she replied. He unlocked the flat's door and stepped out into the corridor, starting to cast all manner of spells to ward the place up. He stared at the brass C on her doorway and shut his eyes, Disapparating from where he stood. He didn't need another hour's walk just now. He needed sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The Savoy Hotel, London

8 July 1970

As she stepped across the tile floor of the lobby toward him, she might have blended right in. After all, she was wearing a black mini-dress with draped sleeves and high chunky heels as was the Muggle fashion of late. Her long hair had been straightened with a centre part, and she had lined her eyes with a thick dark wing and had worn frosty lipstick. So she might have blended in with the jostling nightlife that took over the Savoy every evening, but she didn't. She was too pretty to blend in.

She lowered her eyes as she stepped up to him outside the cabaret, and her breath hitched a little when he put his hand between her shoulder blades and guided her inside.

"I've a table already," he informed her. "Singer starts in five minutes."

"All right," she nodded, and he knew it was hard for her the avoid calling him 'Master' or 'My Lord.' He pulled her chair out for her at their third-row table, just to be chivalrous, and he informed her,

"I've ordered us a steady stream of drinks. Hope you like gin."

"Gin is fine, Master," she nodded, her eyes going wide as she glanced around furtively to see who had heard her. Voldemort ignored her and instead reached for the platter of petit fours that the waitress had brought. They'd each had dinner already; he could see in her mind that she'd had tinned soup and bread back at her flat. Voldemort had had lobster Thermidor, so he had minimal appetite for dessert. He took one little gingerbread-flavoured concoction and popped it into his mouth as the pianist warmed up the crowd up a bit from the stage. He pushed the platter gently toward Bellatrix, not watching her directly as she murmured her thanks and took a tiny vanilla cake.

He sipped through one gin and tonic after another as the show went on. He kept his eyes locked on the Josephine Baker knockoff who sang Muggle jazz standards with a determined, husky voice. The pianist and the little brass ensemble kept things moving, and the singer would give little anecdotes about each song before she warbled it out. Voldemort managed to only flick his eyes over to Bellatrix a few times, noticing in the dim light of the wall sconces that she looked almost surreal. Maybe that was the gin, he thought. Maybe she only looked so pretty because of the gin.

But as he swigged his way through his fourth drink, he realised it wasn't the liquor making her pretty. Just the same, he set his drink down and decided that four gin and tonics in an hour and a half was too much, and he committed to water for the rest of the evening.

Eventually, his fingers drifted toward the platter of desserts as he half-heartedly listened to the singer. He felt something warm against his fingers, and when he glanced to the tray, he saw that he and Bellatrix had reached for the same little lemon square. She immediately retracted her hand, and he saw her frosted lips mumble an apology. He just shook his head and used two fingers to push the lemon square toward her. Bellatrix shook her head helplessly, and he wanted to scold her for being ridiculous. The singer finished her set and the crowd cheered madly for her, but Voldemort just cocked up an eyebrow and pushed the lemon square again. Finally Bellatrix curled her lips up a little and picked it up. Her eyes did all the thanking he needed, and for some reason it was deliriously attractive - the way she popped the treat between her lips and chewed carefully.

Voldemort cleared his throat and pulled out a ten pound note, which, according to his maths, was more than enough to cover their drinks and the platter of desserts. He didn't wait for the waitress to make change; she could have a nice gratuity tonight for all he cared. Their money was easily replaced in his stocks, anyway. He rose and held his hand out for Bellatrix, knowing she'd had nearly three full drinks herself and worrying that she might be unsteady. She was, just a little, so instead of guiding her by her back like he usually did, Voldemort kept hold of her hand and led her from the cabaret.

"Eight, please," he said quietly to the lift operator, and they stayed silent as the brass-lined elevator moved quickly upward. When the operator opened the door, Voldemort led Bellatrix out and released her hand. He needed his right hand to get his suite key from his pocket, after all. Still, it wasn't until he'd let go of her that he realised how much he'd liked holding onto her. He cleared his throat roughly as they stepped into the elaborately-decorated suite, and he said in a brusque tone,

"The bathroom is en suite. Follow me." He led her into his bedroom, which had been given turn-down service. The poufy bed had soft white sheets, and just now it looked very inviting. Voldemort gestured toward the bathroom and ordered Bellatrix, "Go wash off all that makeup and make your hair curly again. I don't mind the costume for the purposes of blending in with the Muggles, but I prefer... I insist upon your natural look. Go."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix started toward the bathroom door, pausing as she asked him cautiously, "Shall I keep my clothes on, Master?"

"No." He thought about scolding her for being so presumptuous as to think that he wanted her, but that was futile. Instead he waited for the bathroom door to shut, and he quickly stripped off his formal black suit. He Banished all the pieces to the wardrobe and set his wand down on the bedside table. He felt rather foolish then, standing there naked like he was the one waiting to serve her. It was nonsense. So he climbed into the bed and lay beneath the plush blankets, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the blazes he'd turned into an apparent puddle of a man over the last few weeks.

It was meant to stay purely physical. She was just here to serve his body's whims, to satisfy the basest urges he might possess. And she was more than willing. But nothing ever stayed purely physical, at least not in the long term. The human parts would always creep in. That was why Voldemort - and, earlier, Tom Riddle - had always limited himself to one-off sexual encounters with adoring witches. He could have done that with Bellatrix. He could have let her use her mouth on him in his office that first night and then sent her away. But he'd wanted more of her in a way he'd never done.

She came ambling out of the bathroom, looking unsure of what he wanted her to do next, so he silently beckoned her up onto the bed. She looked so tiny crawling up onto the high mattress, her thin legs moving smoothly as she edged toward him. Her fingers rather brazenly dusted over his chest, and he thought about shoving her hand away and glaring at her. But he liked it, so he just shut his eyes and asked,

"Do you know how to give a good massage?"

She giggled softly, and then he knew they'd both been more than a little touched by the gin. But she answered him quietly,

"I shall do my absolute best, My Lord, and if it isn't good enough, then I shall stop. Whatever makes you happy."

"Hmm." He rolled over and let her fold the blankets down around his waist. He lay flat on his belly and folded his arms beneath his face, and he heard Bellatrix mutter a lubrication charm that spread across his back like oil. She hesitated for a moment, her nervousness crackling almost physically in the air.

"My Lord, it might be easier if I were... erm... straddling your hips, you know? So I'm centred on you?"

"Mmm-hmm." He felt very drunk then, more drunk than he actually was, because he found that he very much liked the feel of Bellatrix sitting on the back of his upper thighs. He huffed out a pleased breath when her hands started cupping and squeezing at his shoulders. If she didn't actually know what she was doing, she did a very good job of hiding it. He sighed through the delicious feel of her rubbing at one shoulder and then the other, working her hands toward his neck and kneading carefully there. She could have used magic for this, or he could have purchased a product that would work tension from his muscles, but he found he preferred this. He liked her sitting behind him, bent over him as her hands applied just the right amount of pressure.

"Tell me a story," he murmured as her hands worked down the sides of his spine. Before she could express confusion, he specified, "Something funny or interesting that's happened to you. Go ahead."

"Oh. I'm afraid I'm not very interesting," Bellatrix said self-consciously, and though Voldemort was inclined to disagree, he let her keep talking as she rubbed his lower back and hips. He was starting to go hard, his cock folded up against his body but getting rigid from the feel of her hands all over him. Bellatrix cleared her throat a little and said,

"A few months ago, we were on a visit to Hogsmeade and I got into an argument with this Gryffindor girl. She was saying that... that you were evil and needed to be thrown into Azkaban. I disagreed. Loudly. Anyway, I sort of flounced out of the tea shop without paying, because I was flustered, and everyone was convinced I'd deliberately abandoned the bill. I hadn't; I had just been angry, but I had a reputation to uphold, you know?"

It took everything Voldemort had not to laugh, not to show that he was amused. He just soaked in the feel of her palms trailing back up his spine and her knuckles working perfectly at the sides of his neck. She continued,

"So I let everyone think I'd deliberately tried to steal my Earl Grey and biscuits. And I got assigned two weeks' detention scouring cauldrons by hand. And that's my story."

Now Voldemort couldn't help but chuckle a little. He cracked open his eyes and asked her, "Worth it?"

"Worth it, Master." She found his gaze, tipping her head a little and asking, "Does it feel good? Shall I continue?"

"It feels good, but I want something else," he said simply. "Climb off."

She did, always so beautifully obedient, and he rolled back over onto his back. He peeled back the blankets and let his cock stand at attention, smirking at Bellatrix as he ordered her, "Now climb back on."

She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, looking awfully hungry as she straddled him again. He helped her aim his tip toward her entrance, and as she sank down, they both hissed and moaned a little. She enveloped him, just the way she'd done the other day, and it was so good he grabbed at her waist and set her to moving at once. She quickly picked up on the rhythm, swaying up and down and forward and back just so as her head dropped back a little.

Voldemort caressed her pretty little breasts. He slid his knuckles over her collarbone and down her arms. And then he held her hands, realising he'd down that a few times now tonight. She moved steadily, her hips looking perfect as they cycled him in and out. She finally choked out,

"My Lord, you left your tie at my flat last night. I brought it in my handbag for you. Sorry... I... didn't want to forget."

He reached for her hips, stopping her, and when she stared down at him with wide eyes, he shook his head up to her and growled,

"You stupid girl. I left it on purpose."

"Oh." Her cheeks coloured, and suddenly the implications of that seemed to wash over her. She leaned down, her hands going beside his shoulders as her hips started to move again. She wanted to be kissed, he could tell. She wanted to kiss him.

"Do it," he whispered, and she just bent further and touched her lips against his. It wasn't enough for him, but he knew she was too afraid to do more on her own. So he wrenched her hips a few times to encourage her to move more vigorously, and then he seized her face in his hands and yanked her roughly against his mouth. He thrust his tongue up between her lips and she squealed, bucking her hips so quickly that Voldemort felt himself go tight and snap. He spilled his seed up into her, kissing her through it as her own body followed his off the cliff.

She tasted like gin, but underneath that was the vanilla and spice that she always carried. Her hair fell around them both as her hips stilled, and Voldemort just kept kissing her. He felt like he couldn't stop now, like she'd become air just in the last few moments. He rolled a little, encouraging her to lie on the bed beside him. His hand trained down her shoulder and ribs and over her hip, and he squeezed her a little there as he touched his lips to hers once more.

"You should go home now," he said quietly against her mouth, and she nodded and started to pull away. For once he cursed her obedience as she slid from the bed and stepped into the bathroom. He knew she was getting dressed again, and he shut his eyes as he determined that he was just going to stay naked in bed and send her on her way. He could lock the suite's door from here. When she came out of the bathroom looking pretty in her dress and shoes, though, he had to fight the urge to kiss her goodnight. She stared at her own handbag for a moment, and he knew she was wondering if she ought to give him his tie back.

"Keep it," he said quietly. "I'll call you through your Mark the next time I want you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, My Lord," she said with a nod, bowing just a little before she started to leave the bedroom. Voldemort sat up straighter and barked after her,

"Bella."

She turned round in the doorway, surprised by the way he'd used her shortened name so urgently. He felt his throat bob as he informed her,

"As soon as they tell me the heat's off from the Ministry, I'll be moving into Malfoy Manor. But I want you to stay in your flat. It's more secure."

She nodded but frowned, pursing her lips and obviously censoring herself. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said sharply, "Speak."

"It's just... My Lord, who else knows where my flat is?" Bellatrix asked. He shifted a little and shrugged.

"No one. I bought it from a Muggle realtor."

Bellatrix sank her teeth into her bottom lip and suggested, "Perhaps you... I'm sorry if I'm overreaching, Master, but... it would seem as though Malfoy Manor's already on the Ministry's list of places to watch. It would seem... to me, in my very humble opinion... that you might want to meet with your followers at Malfoy Manor, but keep your residence somewhere more... hidden."

"And would you stay hidden, too, Bellatrix?" Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her, and Bellatrix's lips parted a little before she said quietly,

"I'll do whatever makes you happy, Master."

He considered his options. She was right, probably, that staying in the Rosary Gardens flat was more secret and secure. At least for the time being. In fact, he could leave the Savoy sooner if he could keep the flat - and Bellatrix - his own secret.

"I still intend on teaching you Occlumency for security purposes," he informed her crisply. "Yes. I'll keep the location of both you and the flat secret, but I'll be able to meet with my followers to promote my mission. Write to your family and let them know you'll be out of touch for some time. I... erm... I appreciate your discretion."

"It's no problem, My Lord," she insisted, shifting where she stood. "I'll wait for your Summons. Or for you to come to th flat. Goodnight, Master."

"Goodnight, Bella." Voldemort turned his eyes away and stared at the bed post as she turned and walked away. He waited until he heard her open and shut the door to the corridor, and then he aimed his wand in the general direction of the doorway and warded it up. He set his wand down with a hand that shook a bit too much for his liking.

It had just been the gin, he tried to tell himself, to make him hold her hand and savour the kiss so much. It was just strategy that would put them in the same residence for any demonstrable length of time. It was just lust that made her body so alluring to him.

Only, it didn't just feel like gin and strategy and lust. It felt like something dangerous, and so Voldemort found himself swallowing a thick lump in his throat as he slid down beneath the blankets and shut his eyes.

* * *

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor

15 July 1970

"Welcome back, Master," murmured Antonin Dolohov, but Voldemort waved him off as he stepped into the meeting room.

"Sit," he commanded. Dolohov did, along with Abraxas Malfoy, as well as Mulciber, Nott, Avery, and Yaxley. Voldemort had called only his very closest associates to this meeting; there was no need to make a big fuss just now. He sat at the head of the table and got straight to his point.

"Minister Eugenia Jenkins is weak. We ousted Nobby Leach and put her in precisely because she is weak. Last autumn, Squibs marched to demand their so-called 'rights.' New publications insist that Muggles are not, in fact, stupid. Mudbloods rise to new heights in Ministry positions."

Everyone around the table sneered, and Voldemort waited for them to be silent before he continued in an ominous tone,

"They have the gall to put out Undesirable posters for me. Me, the Dark Lord, who wants only to restore pure-blood wizardry to its rightful place in the Magical world - alone and at the top. Me, the Dark Lord himself, who is more powerful than they can imagine. We will continue to Imperius Ministry officials at every level. We will gather vows of loyalty and financial contributions to our cause. We will conduct seemingly random strikes on Muggles and Mudbloods. Tortures, witnessed events. Killings. Let them devote all their time and energy to cleaning up the messes they didn't realise they'd made for themselves."

Nott and Avery grinned madly at one another, and Voldemort nodded toward them.

"You two," he said sharply. Nott and Avery gave their full attention to their master then, and he ordered them, "Make a fuss. Tonight. Two or three or four Muggles. A car crash, perhaps, with witnesses who see you. Transfigure your features, of course. Have fun."

Avery smirked and nodded. "We'll do our best to make you proud, My Lord."

"Yaxley." Voldemort turned his attention to his highest-ranking Ministry plant. "I want Department heads targeted for Imperiusing. Convince them to sack lower-ranking employees who are sympathetic to Mudbloods and to replace them with our allies."

"I'll begin the task immediately, My Lord," Yaxley nodded. "And, with your leave, I'll have Rookwood strengthen his net of espionage."

Voldemort made a little noise of consent, turned to Mulciber and said, "Ensure the werewolves are doing their part. They're nice and terrifying. Keep them loyal."

"I shall, Master," Mulciber replied. Finally, Voldemort turned to Abraxas Malfoy and said,

"Whether through the Imperius Cuse, Confounding, or good old-fashioned violence, we need the press. Ensure that the Daily Prophet focuses on chaos and incompetence at the Ministry and sows division, loyalty... I want the newspaper to work for us, not against us."

Malfoy nodded, and Yaxley said with a bit of wonder in his voice,

"Then the time has truly come, Master. The time has come for your full revolution to take flight."

"It has always been time for this cause, Yaxley," Voldemort corrected him. "It is only now that we find the courage the engage in the war. Any other questions? No? Dismissed, then."

He rose, and everyone rose with him. The wizards all bowed low and started to filter out of the room until it was just Abraxas Malfoy and Lord Voldemort.

"You need something, Malfoy?" Voldemort asked sharply. Malfoy had been in school with Tom Marvolo Riddle; their personal history went very far back. Malfoy knitted his hands before him and said in a cautious tone,

"My Lord, I'm sure you know, but... my son Lucius is in a teenaged relationship with Narcissa Black."

"That's nice," Voldemort said blandly, for he really and truly did not care. But then his mind started putting pieces together, and he was unsurprised when Malfoy said,

"Narcissa came here to the Manor yesterday in tears, My Lord. She said that her eldest sister, Bellatrix, had disappeared."

"Disappeared," Voldemort repeated, feeling suddenly amused. Malfoy nodded quickly and said,

"She apparently sent a letter a few days ago saying that she would be out of touch and that she was fine. But when Druella Black sent a reply to her daughter, the owl came back with nothing in its talons."

"That sounds like she simply doesn't want to be found," Voldemort noted. "She is of age. Why are you concerned with this?"

Malfoy hesitated, and Voldemort didn't need to look into his head to see the answer. Bellatrix had been here at Malfoy Manor in June, then she'd rather abruptly dropped from public view. Narcissa would have told them, too, about the night that Bellatrix quickly packed a trunk and left for Kensington. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said sharply,

"She's perfectly fine. You can go ahead and privately, quietly inform her parents that she is perfectly fine. Tell them to stop making such a grand fuss. Narcissa, too."

"Understood, My Lord. Thank you." Malfoy nodded and bowed deeply, leaving Voldemort alone in the meeting room. Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table and considered that a great many pieces were about to be set into motion.

Tonight he'd be moving into the flat in Rosary Gardens. He hadn't seen Bellatrix since the night at the Savoy cabaret, but he'd sent her a letter by Muggle post informing her that he'd be coming the night of the fifteenth. He couldn't risk owls just now.

Hours later, he stood in his suite in the Savoy, which had been appropriately paid out downstairs, and he gripped the handle of his Expanded trunk in one hand and his wand in the other. He Disapparated from where he stood, traveling through the pinched black void for a moment and coming to in the sitting-room of the Rosary Gardens flat.

Bellatrix's voice screamed a little from behind him, and when he turned round, he read shock on her face. He scowled and reminded her,

"I said I was coming tonight."

Bellatrix flew to her feet, flying from her armchair and letting the book she'd been reading thunk to the ground. She shook her head in confusion.

"I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't get the owl. Master, I do apologise."

"Owl? No." Voldemort shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. "Have you not been checking the post?"

"The post," Bellatrix repeated cautiously, and Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"In the box. Downstairs."

"Oh." Bellatrix sounded alarmed then. "Erm... no. No, My Lord. I didn't know that I was... erm... I'm sorry."

He snorted a dark little laugh then, setting his trunk down and opening the door to the landing. He aimed his wand toward the stairwell and murmured,

"Accio Flat C Post."

He waited a moment, and then a little stack of envelopes came soaring up the stairs. He caught them and shut the door again, stalking into the sitting room and thumbing through the mail. Bellatrix looked horrified at how much she hadn't seen. Voldemort pulled the utilities bills out; he'd already paid those. There was a receipt of taxes paid on the newly-purchased house. And then there was an envelope addressed in his own script. He held that one up, giving Bellatrix a snarky look as he passed it over. She opened it as he Vanished the bills and receipts. She read the short note and then started apologising again.

"It's fine," he assured her, Levitating his trunk and sending it floating down the corridor toward the bedroom. Bellatrix watched it go, and then she seemed like there was something she wanted to say or ask. Voldemort answered the question before it could form on her lips.

"I'll split the bed into two smaller beds," he said quietly. "I can move yours in here, if you like."

"Oh." She seemed very surprised by that answer, but Voldemort scoffed and said in a mocking voice,

"What? You thought you'd be cuddled up alongside the Dark Lord himself at night? Foolish girl."

The truth was that he'd considered that option for a solid minute at the Savoy. He'd thought that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to feel her heat beside him under the blankets, or to be able to demand sex from her just before falling asleep or immediately upon waking. But he could still do that last bit, he knew, without curling his body against his in his own bed.

"I'll move your bed," he said matter-of-factly, and Bellatrix's cheeks reddened as she nodded and said softly,

"Of course, My Lord. Whatever pleases you. I was just about to make some dinner; shall I prepare some for you, as well?"

"Yes." Voldemort watched her go toward the kitchen then, and he stood in the threshold as she began pulling ingredients and bowls from cupboards. She started a heavy pot filling with water from the taps, and she unwrapped a chicken bouillon cube to drop into it. Then she put that on the stove and used her wand to immediately boil it. She set out five or six potatoes on a cutting board and cast some quick dicing charms, then Banished them into the boiling water. Celery and onion went in, too, then Bellatrix used a hand whisk to mix up flour and milk in a separate bowl. She added it, with cheese and chopped parsley, into the soup, and soon enough the flat smelled delicious. She was pretty like this, barefoot and moving with a purpose as her wand swished expertly around her. She stood over the simmering pot and murmured,

"Had to learn how to cook; our House-Elf is a disaster, and my mum couldn't make a biscuit to save her soul."

"Hmm." Voldemort stepped into the kitchen, breathing in the smell of the cooking and feeling his mouth water. "Speaking of your mother..."

Bellatrix whirled round at that, looking a little concerned, but Voldemort said reassuringly,

"She and Narcissa were worried after you, that's all. Or, at least, Narcissa expressed as much to Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh. I'm so sorry that you were bothered with such a silly thing, Master." Bellatrix looked embarrassed, but he shrugged and told her,

"It's nothing. I had Malfoy reassure them that you're fine. The meeting went well."

"Did it?" Her face lit up then, and he could sense that she was not just devoted to him personally, but also to his cause. He cleared his throat as she ladeled thick soup out for them, and he said,

"We're beginning to assault the Ministry full-on now. From the inside out, you know, with Imperiused employees and careful work on the press. But also wreaking havoc and creating chaos by giving them good solid messes to clean up."

Bellatrix lowered her eyes, pursing her lips, and suddenly Voldemort could read her like a book. He watched her set the bowls of soup down on the kitchen table, and as she poured out white wine for them, he noted,

"You want to be off killing Muggles for me."

"I want to make you happy," she insisted, but he tipped her chin up and saw bloodlust in her gaze. He smirked and nodded.

"Perhaps someday, Miss Black, you'll be doing all manner of dirty work for me. For now, your place is here. And your place is significant. I won't have you questioning my decisions."

"I'm not, Master," she said a little defensively. Her eyes welled then as she told him, "I think you're going to be universally feared and adored, and whatever minuscule role I can play in assisting you on that path will be more than I deserve."

"Good girl," he whispered, lowering his lips to hers. She sighed against him, for both of their bodies had awakened the second the kiss began. A week with no contact, it turned out, had been more noticeable than Voldemort would have thought. He kissed her deeply until he realised her hard-won soup would be getting cold. He tore himself away from her and as, nodding his thanks when she brought him a soup spoon and a glass of white wine.

"Shall I sit, My Lord?" She didn't sound very certain about the answer she'd get, and he glared up at her. But then he realised she was right to be confused. After all, he was splitting the bed in half and banishing her to the sitting room to sleep. Why would she assume that she could eat with him? She wouldn't. She wouldn't assume such a thing, because she was too intelligent and loyal for that. So he cleared his throat and used wandless magic to send her chair scooting backward, and he told her,

"You're permitted meals with me unless I inform you otherwise."

"Yes, Master." She sat opposite him, and both of them began spooning the delicious potato soup into their mouths.

"It's good," he told her honestly, sending a grateful, self-conscious grin across her face. Voldemort sipped from his wine and informed her, "We'll begin Occlumency lessons tomorrow. Ten or twenty minutes a day; I don't want to exhaust you, and you become more skilled whilst learning in shorter bursts."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix said. "I shall be grateful for the ability to protect the images of you that dwell in my mind."

"It's not a gift. It's part of your service," Voldemort snapped. Then, feeling compelled to soften his tone a little, he told her as gently as he could, "Speaking of which, I shan't be... erm... well, I won't expect physical pleasure from you every single day, so..."

He wasn't certain where he was going with that, and she clearly had no idea, either. She blinked a few times and ate some more soup, but he just swirled his spoon in his bowl and finally said,

"Things like this... a homemade meal and conversation. That'll be just as appreciated, you understand. Now that things with the Ministry will be ramping up. You're welcome to visit your family, or not. You can go to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or the bloody Muggle High Streets. It's your decision. You're not a prisoner here. But this location stays completely secret, along with your exact role in my organisation. This is information that will be known only to you and me. Understood?"

"Yes, My Lord," she whispered, nodding vigorously. He chewed his bottom lip for a moment and finally asked her,

"What have you been doing the past week?"

He didn't know why he cared. He really, genuinely should not have cared. But he liked the way she giggled quietly and admitted,

"I got quite bored, I confess. I practised some Charms work. Transfiguration of my hair and face, of my clothes. Changing the wall clock into a feathered hat and back again. I was grateful for all the spellbooks I'd brought."

"I'm sorry you were bored," Voldemort said, and as he spooned soup into his mouth, Bellatrix's lips fell open in horror.

"N-no, My Lord. That's not... I didn't mean... I'm sorry if I sounded ungrateful."

"You didn't. I got bored at the Savoy," he said simply, raising his eyes to her. "It would have made sense, probably, to do a few more dinner dates or something."

"Dates," she whispered, and he winced as he realised what he'd said. But Bellatrix rescued him quickly, murmuring, "No, I know what you mean. Eating in the restaurant or listening to the music at the cabaret might have been a nice respite from the repetition. And those aren't things comfortably done alone, so..."

"Thank you for the soup. I'm going to go see to the beds." Voldemort rose, and Bellatrix flew to her feet until he'd left the room. He could hear her clanging around int the kitchen, washing up from cooking and eating, and he went into the bedroom and studied the bed that she'd clearly made up carefully this morning. He swallowed hard and sliced his wand down the middle of the bed.

"Partis Utram," he incanted, and suddenly the wide bed became to individual beds with the same blankets and sheets as before. He stepped up to one of the single beds and shrank it down with another simple charm. Once the bed was small enough for him to carry it, he lugged it across the corridor into the sitting-room. He set the bed down and used his wand to rearrange the furniture to make space. Then, with an Engorgement Charm, he returned the bed to its larger size.

This was rather silly, he thought suddenly. It was ridiculous that they'd both be sleeping in uncomfortably small beds, just a few metres away from one another, not for modesty, but because Voldemort wanted to maintain some semblance of privacy even in this distinctly intimate arrangement.

An hour later, after they'd taken turns in the bathroom, Bellatrix came out into the bedroom to move her trunk, and he stopped her as he put his hand over hers and shook his head.

"This is ridiculous," he murmured, and Bellatrix looked so pretty in her black nightgown that he had to fight not to stare at her. Finally he shook his head, as if ridding himself of an insect buzzing between his ears, and he Banished her heavy trunk over into the other room. He sniffed lightly and informed her,

"I've a meeting with Yaxley in the morning to strategise. Tomorrow evening, we begin Occlumency lessons. Be here and available at five o'clock."

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She smelled like toothpaste and soap. She curved just so beneath her black nightgown. He could take her here, in his half of the divided bed, and then send her away with his seed running down the inside of her thigh. He could just force her down over the edge of the bed and pound her. He could shove her down onto her knees and finish on her face. He could do all manner of things. Somehow he managed to limit himself to a touch of his lips against hers, and he said quietly,

"Night, then."

"Goodnight, Master." Bellatrix bowed her head and asked carefully, "Shall I shut the door behind me?"

"Yes, thank you." Voldemort watched her go, feeling that he'd gone a bit hard in his black flannel pyjamas. He gnawed his lip and nodded to her when she flashed him one last tiny smile. She pulled the door shut behind her, and a moment later, he heard the door into the sitting-room shut, as well. Voldemort huffed a sigh and flopped down onto the bed, wishing it wasn't such a damaging idea to just share a damned bed with her.

* * *

27 Rosary Gardens, London

16 July 1970

"Legilimency is an open art," Lord Voldemort was saying, and when Bellatrix frowned in confusion from where she sat, he specified, "It's possible to search for a specific memory or thought, but one will inevitably be inundated with flashes of rapid-fire mental images. One must be willing to see all manner of ridiculousness on the path to the goal. Likewise, an Occlumens must be able to ignore the rush of potentially embarrassing images that go by in order to focus on shutting out the Legilimens."

Bellatrix nodded, folding her hands in her lap and paying very close attention to her tutor. He was walking slowly around the kitchen; she'd made them a quick meal and now she was sitting at the table whilst he instructed her in her first Occlumency lesson. Voldemort stopped and stared right at Bellatrix, ignoring the minor headache that came over her as she wondered what he found so interesting.

"I won't always announce myself in your mind, Bella," he scolded her. "Most people will never even know they've been invaded. A good Occlumens must first recognise the sensation of being invaded; it doesn't always happen forcefully. Today, we shall do that. Tomorrow, perhaps, we can begin the art of active resistance. But today... today you'll learn to feel me."

There was something terribly erotic about the way he'd said that, and Bellatrix shivered where she sat. He paced again and murmured,

"You'll feel my penetration as a low buzz or a sharp ache. Like something has prodded your brain. Tell me when you feel it."

He kept walking, his eyes down. Bellatrix felt a little quiver inside her mind, and she gasped softly.

"There," she said, and he quirked up half his mouth as he nodded. She felt a soft whoosh, like he'd retreated from her, and another long moment passed. She found herself thinking about him, about the way he'd looked and felt beneath her in bed at the Savoy.

"Bellatrix, pay attention," he snapped. "I've been in there for thirty seconds without you noticing."

Bellatrix put her lips into a line and said in a rather surly voice, "Perhaps you are more skilled at this than most people, Master."

He scowled at her and chided, "Albus Dumbledore is more skilled at this than most people."

She felt a sharp pang in the back recess of her head then, and she whispered carefully, "There."

"Good." This time he didn't pull out again. He remained in her mind, and suddenly Bellatrix could feel him flipping through her thoughts like a book. Images of her all dolled up for a Christmas party. Her sitting here in the flat on a rainy day a week earlier, reading with a cup of tea beside her. A fantasy she'd dreamed up once of her kneeling before him whilst he used a dull knife to tease and taunt her.

The feel of him pulling out of her mind then was so quick and aggressive that Bellatrix felt a bit ill. She watched Voldemort throw up an eyebrow, and he said softly,

"Knives, Bella?"

"It was just a dream, My Lord," she whispered. "Just a fantasy."

"Mmm-hmm. So was that image in your mind of your hands tied up behind your back, with me plundering you from behind. That was just a fantasy, too, wasn't it? Until it was real."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and felt him go back into her head. "There."

"Good." He pulled back out again, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him adjust his grip on his wand. His throat bobbed as he flicked his eyes to the hard tile floor, and he commanded her, "Come here."

She did, scrambling to kneel before him. She watched in awe as he walked confidently to the block on the countertop and pulled out a paring knife. He brought it back over to Bellatrix, touching the blade to the neckline of her tunic-style dress.

"Speak now, or your clothes will forever lie in pieces," he said, and she couldn't help but smile. She shook her head silently, gasping when he sawed through the hem and then brought the knife up to his teeth. He tore at the cotton dress, ripping it wide open and yanking it off of Bellatrix's arms. He tossed it aside and roughly unclasped her bra, yanking it down and tossing it away, too. She could see that his cock had bulged in his trousers, and she went so wet between her legs that she squirmed.

Voldemort brought the knife from his teeth, and all of a sudden its blade was a hair's breath from Bellatrix's neck. She stared up at Voldemort, the fear in her veins creating an unexpectedly powerful surge of want. She was afraid to swallow, afraid that if she did, she'd get cut and would bleed out on the kitchen floor. But Voldemort stared down at her with a confident, cold gaze, and he instructed her,

"Play with my cock. Through the trousers."

"Yes, Master." She reached with trembling fingers to stroke at him through the wool of his trousers, her breath hitching when she felt the hardness that had formed there. She kept dragging her knuckles along his erection as he brought the knife to her shoulder and carefully dragged it so that the sharp edge didn't cut her. He paused, pressing the edge into her skin until she was sure he'd break her open, but then he pulled the knife away and whispered,

"You like to be afraid."

"Only of you," Bellatrix said truthfully, and that answer seemed to satisfy him immensely. Voldemort brought the knife blade to the swell at the top of Bellatrix's breast, carefully making an indentation without cutting her. She almost came at that, at the feel of him wielding something so dangerous against her skin. His wand was just as powerful - more powerful, actually - but there was something about the glint of the metal that made her body come alive. She sighed with shaking breath when he took his wand out and carefully Banished the knife back to the block on the countertop. Then suddenly she herself was being Levitated, and Bellatrix squealed with shock as she realised he was depositing her onto the butcher block counter.

"Knickers down," he commanded, and she nodded wordlessly, unable to find her breath. She managed to slide her lace knickers down and off, kicking them to the floor and watching as Voldemort pulled his shirt out from his trousers. He didn't bother unbuttoning it, nor pulling down his suspenders. He wasn't going to be naked for this, but she was. That thought made her more wet than ever, and on instinct her fingers flew between her legs.

"No. Naughty little creature." Voldemort swatted her hand away and gave her a serious look. He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his cock off, and he shoved her knees open so roughly that she almost lost her balance. Then his hands were on either side of her neck, squeezing just enough that she gasped in fear. Was he going to choke her? Did he mean to take her breath away for good? The very thought of it all made her buck her hips a little, and he let out a mean little laugh as he noted,

"Oh, yes. You like to be afraid of me."

He lined himself up and pushed his cock into her body, and as he started to pump his hips, Bellatrix felt a dull buzz in her brain.

"There," she said, and he smirked at her as the soft whoosh of his exist became clear.

"Good," he praised her, cycling his hips carefully, so that each thrust put him all the way to his hilt inside of her. It felt good, so very, very good after all the taunting and teasing, and Bellatrix could feel that she was incredibly close to a climax. A sharp pain in the back of her head told her he'd come into her mind again, and she whispered desperately,

"There."

"Mmm-hmm." This time he didn't pull away. He touched his forehead to Bellatrix's, one hand pawing at her breast whilst the other tightened at her throat again. She spluttered a bit and gasped, and when he released her and she found air, she came. It was too much, being so thoroughly dominated by him like this. He could have sliced her neck open with the knife. He could have choked the life right out of her. Instead he was pushing his cock into her over and over again, and so she came.

He was in her mind the whole time. She was very aware of that now. She could tell he was sitting inside her brain, just feeling the pulse and eruption of her climax. No memories whizzed by; he'd found what he wanted. His cock twitched and his hips stilled, and Bellatrix couldn't help but wonder if the feel of her orgasm had driven him to his own.

"Yes," he whispered against her mouth, and then he took her face in both his hands and crushed her with a bruising kiss. She could feel him spilling inside of her, his breath wild and shallow through his nostrils as he kissed her. Suddenly Bellatrix realised something terrifying. She had feelings for him far beyond what she was meant to have as his sexual servant. She liked him as a man. She liked his personality - the parts of him that made him dominant over other men and over her. She liked that he teased her with his cock and with knives and with words. She liked that he was confident, that he was gentle at very specific moments. She thought he was so handsome that his looks might be the death of her. She thought all of that, and then she remembered that he was inside her head.

He pulled his mouth from hers, both of them breathless. His forehead was slick with sweat, and she felt him withdraw from her mind.

"There," she whispered. "Felt it that time, too."

"You're ready... ready to move on tomorrow," he nodded, taking a step back and pushing himself back into his trousers. He left his shirt untucked and dragged his wrist over his sweaty forehead, and he murmured, "I'm going to... to take a shower. Get all this cleaned up and... meet me in the bedroom."

"Yes, My Lord." She watched as he stepped quickly away. She was surprised to see him go into the sitting-room, but it wasn't her business if he'd changed his mind about taking a shower. She slid off the countertop, wincing at the sight of his seed and her fluids that had leaked out onto the surface. She used her wand to siphon it up, Scouring the wood afterward. That made her think that she ought to Scour the knife, too, which she did, her fingers shaking like mad as she pushed it back into the block. She repaired the dress that he'd sliced and ripped, and she pulled it over her head. She pulled her knickers on and walked on shaking legs toward the bedroom. She wasn't sure what he had in mind for her there, for she was utterly worn out, but she wasn't prepared for what she saw when she walked into the room.

He hadn't gotten in the shower yet; he was standing beside the bed. He'd apparently moved her small half of the bed back in here and melded them back into one wide bed, for it looked as it had when she'd first moved into the flat. Voldemort put his hands on his hips and said firmly,

"I felt profoundly silly last night sleeping so nearby with walls and doors put up on purpose. It felt juvenile. You'll sleep in here tonight. Don't make any more of that than it is. It's early yet; I'm going to take a shower and you can have one when I'm done. In the meantime, go read in the sitting-room or something."

Bellatrix's eyes welled, and she nodded vigorously as she whispered, "Yes, My Lord. Thank you, Master."

"This is just about us not being silly. That's all." He cleared his throat and walked toward the bathroom, practically slamming the door shut behind him. Bellatrix's heart raced as she realised she felt so much more for him than she was meant to do. Then she felt a buzz in her head again, and she whispered aloud,

"There."

* * *

27 Rosary Gardens, London

16 July 1970

"Is there a particular side of the bed you normally prefer?" Voldemort kept his voice formal and tight as he gestured to the wide, soft bed. Bellatrix looked right at him, surprisingly unembarrassed by all of this. She shrugged and said quietly,

"I'm normally somewhere in middle, I suppose. I've only just left Hogwarts last month, My Lord, and, as I'm sure you know, the beds are small enough that you just sort of..."

"Sprawl over the entire thing," Voldemort finished for her, smirking as she suppressed her own grin. She nodded and assured him,

"Whichever side suits you best is yours, Master."

He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip as he stared at her for a long moment. It didn't matter to him in the least what side of the bed he had, for he was a rare back sleeper. But he needed to maintain some semblance of authority here, so he moved confidently to the right side of the bed as if it had always been the side he'd preferred. He peeled back the blankets and climbed into the bed, rolling onto his back and staring resolutely at the ceiling.

Bellatrix moved more gingerly on the other side of the bed, seeming nervous about pushing the mattress down too firmly with her tiny weight. She climbed carefully beneath the blankets and then rolled onto her side, facing away from Voldemort with her knees tucked up to her chest. She was trying to make herself as small as possible, he could see. He frowned at her as she nudged her pillow toward the edge of the bed and curled her fingers up around the blankets.

"You're going to topple off the bed," he barked, his voice abrasive even to his own ears. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder and gave him a reassuring look.

"I'm fine, My Lord. Honest. I don't want to crowd you."

"Hmph." He reached and hooked an arm around her waist, yanking her back toward him. She squealed with surprise, but she moved easily and wound up rolling a bit toward him. She laughed a little and reached, seemingly on instinct, for the shadow of scruff on his jaw. She started to pull her hand away, acting like she'd been shocked by touching him. She started to whisper an apology, but Voldemort covered her hand with his and leaned forward until his lips brushed against hers.

"Bella," he said, much too gently, her name feeling like silk on his breath. He pushed into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency, and after a moment, she whispered,

"There."

"Mmm-hmm." He was socked by a memory that flashed before him like a Muggle film. Bellatrix looked to be a fourth-year, perhaps a fifth-year, and she'd pranked Professor Slughorn by replacing one of his potions ingredients with some Erumpent horn shavings. His cauldron had exploding, unleashing chaos in the classroom, and Bellatrix had been very amused. Then he could see her rolling her eyes in Albus Dumbledore's face as he informed her that she'd lost Slytherin seventy-five points and earned herself five weeks' detention. Voldemort scoffed and pulled out of her mind, meeting her amused eyes as he demanded,

"Have you always been such an incendiary little provocateur, Miss Black?"

She shrugged, her cheekbones going pink as she admitted, "I'm not very good at following rules."

"You follow my rules just fine," he reminded her, and her smile vanished as she whispered,

"You're different, My Lord."

"So are you." He swallowed hard, remembering the thoughts that had been inside her mind earlier. She'd been on the kitchen counter and he'd been in her head, and she'd been thinking all manner of surprising things. She'd considered how her attraction toward him extended far beyond the physical. She was afraid he'd cast her aside in favour of a new toy, which would crush her because of how deeply she felt about him. Voldemort wrenched his eyes shut and finally mumbled,

"I like having you about, Bella. I... erm... I quite like you."

He opened his eyes and saw that hers had gone wet. He reached to tuck her black curls behind her ear, and for some reason, he didn't move his hand. Hers was still on his face, and her lips were parted just so, and Voldemort informed her,

"The way you're reacting to what I've just said is, in fact, part of what I like about you, Bellatrix. You... you seem to know the appropriate things to say to me, and when to say nothing at all, and... when to just let me rant like a fool and pretend my words are spun gold, so..."

"I'm not pretending, My Lord," she whispered, and as he shut his eyes again, he felt Bellatrix's hand tighten on his jaw. Her thumb was rubbing under his eye, and it felt so good that a small sound escaped him. Suddenly he could feel everything spiraling out of control. He needed to recover his position in all of this. Now.

He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him so that her face rested on his chest, and he pulled her left leg until she cast it across his hips. Then he shut his eyes and said quite firmly,

"I've an early meeting. Go to sleep."

"Yes, My Lord." Her voice was shaking so badly that for a moment he thought she might be crying. He laced his fingers through hers and sighed heavily, willing himself to give in to his fatigue.

It felt good, he thought, to lie here with her. It was exactly what he'd promised himself he wouldn't do, but, then, he hadn't intended on using the juvenile words 'I quite like you' with her, either. It didn't matter now. What mattered now was the smell of vanilla in her hair. What mattered was the feel of her snugly tucked against him, warm and soft and small. What mattered was that she was his in absolutely every sense of the word. Her body belonged to him. Her mind did, too. And some other maudlin part of her, her heart or her soul or whatever it was, had clearly given itself over to him, as well.

He didn't mind. He fell asleep with the scent and feel of her enveloping him, and his sleep was deep and dreamless.

When he woke in the grey light of the rainy morning, he just stared down at her for a while. She'd migrated a little during the night; her legs had moved to the side of the bed, but her head was on his abdomen and she was half-embracing him. Voldemort studied her face for a very long while, knowing that he needed to get up soon and shave and dress. He had a meeting with Avery and Nott to discuss their successful attack on some Muggles. They'd flipped a construction lorry with three workers, all of whom had died, whilst two hospitalised witnesses had seen 'men aiming sticks' at the lorry just before the crash. It had created a good, solid mess for the Ministry to clean up, and the Daily Prophet's headline the day before had read, 'CHAOS IN CHISHOLM LEAVES MINISTRY SCRAMBLING.' So Voldemort wanted to congratulate Avery and Nott and to send them off on another mission as soon as this one quieted down. But right now he took a solid minute to just look at Bellatrix, and he realised he'd chosen a very beautiful toy for himself.

Toy. That was the wrong word. Perhaps it had been precisely the right word that first night in his office, when he'd ordered her down onto her knees and shoved his cock into her throat. Now it felt all wrong. She was something else entirely, and it frightened him a little. Voldemort gulped and wondered if it was the worst thing to have a little companion through everything that was coming. There would be skirmishes and all-out battles, and he'd need her for those. There would be torture, interrogations, executions. There would be evasion, more hiding. There would be chaos and long, anguished periods of inaction. Would it be so bad, he wondered, to have a witch of his own through it all? She needn't be an object, nor a girlfriend. She could just be his.

"Bellatrix," he whispered, and when that wasn't enough to wake her, he stroked at her hair and murmured, "Bella."

She blinked her eyes open, and for a second it seemed like she was convinced she was dreaming. She hadn't registered that this was real yet. In that second, her dark eyes filled with emotion, with happiness, and there was a sharp tug in Voldemort's chest. He cleared his throat and said roughly,

"Get off me. I've a meeting to get ready for."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Master." She scrambled up and back, and Voldemort abruptly found himself regretting the way he'd spoken to her. He licked his bottom lip and said more gently,

"I slept well. Better than usual."

"It makes me very happy to hear that, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and he knew she was being honest. He found her eyes and stared at her for a moment, unsure of what the most intelligent thing to do was in that moment. He did what was probably a distinctly unintelligent thing; he reached for her face and stroked her cheek.

He remembered the kiss in the rain outside the Savoy, the way he'd torn himself off of her when it had felt too visceral. Now he swallowed the lump in his throat and said,

"I'd like you to go to dinner with me tonight. Not at the Savoy. Somewhere else; I'll figure out a good place."

Bellatrix curled her lips up and nodded. "Of course, My Lord. And, erm... I know it's not a -"

"Actually, it is." Voldemort stared at her with eyes that probably seemed awfully cold, and he knew there was a disconnect between his words and his tone as he informed her, "It is a date."

"Oh," she breathed, nodding. She wanted to giggle, to grin. He could tell. But she limited herself to a shy little smile and said quietly, "Just let me know the time and place, My Lord. So I can be prompt and dressed appropriately."

She was an expert at flirting with a man like him, and he found himself letting out a shaking breath. He thought through the quality Muggle establishments he knew, and he finally said,

"The Ritz. Piccadilly. Take a taxi there so someone doesn't accidentally see you Apparate. Seven o'clock. I'll meet you there."

He didn't wait for her reply. He rose from the bed and quickly made his way to the bathroom, knowing that if he lingered, things would deteriorate further than they'd already done.


	3. Chapter 3

The Ritz, Piccadilly

17 July 1970

Avery and Nott had been driven to ecstasy by their Master's praise. His words of approval had nearly driven the grown wizards to tears. So Voldemort had found himself in rather a good mood, and he'd wound up just cleaning himself up and changing his jacket and tie by Transfiguration for dinner.

Now he stood outside the Ritz Restaurant, and suddenly his palms felt a bit sweaty. He'd told her this was real, that this was a date in a way the other times hadn't been. He tried to reassure himself that the only difference was the setting. They were at the Ritz instead of the Savoy. That was all. He'd prepaid for a four-course prix fixe meal with a bottle of wine, and he'd requested a quiet table near the windows that looked out over Green Park. Still, he felt like he might vomit.

She was in a plum-coloured gown when she came round the corridor. She was clad in a column dress that hugged her curves and was strategically see-through lace around her bodice. Her curls tumbled around her shoulders, and her dramatic makeup accentuated her prettiest features. Voldemort felt his chin drop a bit, and he rubbed his hands on his trousers desperately to rid himself of the nervous sensation.

"Evening," he said as Bellatrix stepped up to him. She flashed him a little smile, and he flicked his eyes up and down her form as he told her, "You look... pretty."

Her cheeks coloured and she whispered simply, "Thank you."

He put his hand to the small of her back and led her into the restaurant, where the Muggle maitre d' nodded and said,

"Just this way, Mr Riddle. Good evening, madam."

Madam. Riddle. It was all wrong, the words were all wrong. It didn't matter, not really. There was a violinist playing on the far side of the restaurant, and as the Muggle man led Voldemort to his table, he thought that this restaurant was a perfectly suitable place for a proper date. He pulled out Bellatrix's chair for her, all chivalry as he pushed her back in and put his napkin on his lap.

"The waiter will have your first course out in a moment," said the maitre d', and Bellatrix looked a little confused. Once the Muggle had walked away, Voldemort informed her,

"I've pre-ordered the fixed menu for tonight."

He didn't ask for her permission or approval. He just told her what was going to happen. Still, she looked elated and said quietly,

"That sounds magnificent, Master."

The restaurant was loud enough that no one could hear her say that last bit. He knew, in fact, that their conversation was private enough for him to ask her,

"Have you seen the Prophet?"

She smiled contentedly and nodded. "This morning, they said it took sixteen Obliviators and Aurors all day and night to work on the memories of those who had witnessed the event. And they had to coerce Muggle newspapers into covering the event such that the witnesses looked like they were either mad or attention-seeking. It's a mess for the Ministry."

"And as soon as this mess is cleaned up, we'll give them a fresh one," Voldemort informed her crisply. "We'll continue to paint me, my cause, as the way out of chaos. What a wonderful Britain it would be if only we had the steady rule of Lord Voldemort. That's the message we'll continue to convey."

"What a wonderful Britain it would be, indeed, My Lord." Bellatrix looked and sounded sincere at that, but before he could answer, the Muggle sommelier arrived and poured them each a sample of a dry red Bandol wine. He started blathering on about small pebbles in the soil where the grapes were grown, but Voldemort just nodded his head and said quite sharply,

"It's fine."

The sommelier stopped mid-sentence and noddd politely, pouring out full glasses and leaving the napkin-wrapped bottle of wine on the table. Bellatrix picked up her glass and stared into the wine once the sommelier was gone, she said in a very soft tone,

"To a dinner that may or may not be a date."

"It is," Voldemort responded. "I told you it is."

She raised her eyes to him, and suddenly he wanted to snatch her hand and Disapparate back to Rosary Gardens and fuck her into the sheets. But, no. That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to kiss her. Instead he just drank from his wine and watched as the waiter stepped up and put small plates before each of them. Each plate had two raw oysters and a lemon wedge. Bellatrix studied the oysters, and once the Muggle waiter had gone, she admitted,

"I've never eaten them raw before, My Lord."

"Live a little," he taunted her, picking one up and tipping it back into his mouth. It was perfectly slimy with just the right flavour, and he cocked up an eyebrow at Bellatrix as she picked up an oyster. It was rather adorable, if he was honest, when she squeezed her eyes shut and quickly slurped the oyster from its shell. She winced and looked a little horrified for a brief moment, but then she grinned and said,

"It's good."

She quickly ate the other oyster, and Voldemort took his time with his second one. He set down the empty shell, studying the mother of pearl on the inside, and he drummed his fingers on the table.

"When there are battles, you'll fight for me," he said. He looked up to see Bellatrix looking almost serene in her bliss, and she murmured,

"I'd slay a thousand enemies in one night with my wand if it would help your victory, Master."

That was erotic. Those words were like the most delicious poison to him, and he swallowed hard, feeling like he'd egged himself on by drawing her into this conversation. It didn't matter. He pulled his thumb around the sharp edge of the oyster shell on his plate and asked Bellatrix,

"Would you hesitate, Bella? Even for a moment?"

"Hesitate with what, Master?" She sounded a little breathless, and he flicked his gaze up to her.

"With killing."

"No." She shook her head resolutely. "I wouldn't hesitate, not even for a moment."

The waiter came then and quickly cleared away the oyster plates onto his cart. He used a crumb scraper on the tablecloth, even though there were no crumbs, and then he set out plates of asparagus with sautéed mushrooms. Once he'd gone, Voldemort ate in silence, finding that the odd flirtation had been almost too much for him to bear. Finally he heard Bellatrix say,

"Master, my mother asked me earlier today where I'd been."

"And what did you tell her?" Voldemort set his knife and fork down, having availed himself of all the mushrooms and asparagus he wanted. He sipped from his wine again, and Bellatrix said carefully,

"I told her I was working, that I had a place of my own, and that the details weren't exactly anyone else's business. Andromeda suggested that maybe I was working as an Unspeakable and couldn't talk about it. Seeing as how she's liable to run off with that Mudblood boyfriend of hers any day now, I can't say as I've been grateful to Andromeda for much in recent years. But that suggestion seemed to stick, and I didn't argue it."

Voldemort smirked. He thought perhaps that was the longest consecutive comment he'd heard Bellatrix make since meeting her, and he liked it. He nodded.

"That'll do. Don't concern yourself with the opinions of others, especially those who could never be capable of..."

He stopped then, for the Muggle waiter had come back to clear their plates. They were replaced with lamb and mint sauce, and the waiter poured more wine into both of the almost-empty glasses. Bellatrix huffed when the waiter had gone, and she told Voldemort,

"These formal dinners are very fun, but very filling, Master."

"Just take a few bites," he suggested. He stabbed a roast potato with his own fork and then tucked into the lamb, and after awhile, he took a few sips from his wine and told Bellatrix,

"I enjoy my time with you."

It was a simple statement, and yet it was more loaded than just about anything he'd ever said. He was not ignorant in the least to that fact. He chewed his lip hard and sipped more wine, and Bellatrix asked quietly,

"Have you eaten here before, My Lord?"

"Once," he said. "A long time ago. In a different life."

He'd been twenty-three years of age and anxious for a luxurious experience when he'd come here last. Twenty years had passed since then. Precisely everything in his life had changed. Something compelled him to say quietly,

"The name. Riddle. It didn't come out of nowhere."

He gave her a very steady look then, and he watched the realisation come over her. That had been his name. That had been who he'd been, once upon a time. She was no idiot; she knew that there had been a man before Lord Voldemort. Riddle. That was all he would give her, at least for now. She just nodded and glanced around, and as usual, she said exactly the right thing.

"It's a fine restaurant, especially given that it's Muggle-run. They do a fine job cooking with such primitive means."

"Indeed," Voldemort nodded. Right on cue, the waiter arrived to clear their plates of lamb. Voldemort frowned, for Bellatrix had hardly touched hers, but she signaled to the waiter that she was finished. The waiter cleared out extraneous plates and flatware and put a cheese plate down. It was the dessert Voldemort had selected, for he new that Bellatrix would prefer something light and not too sweet. She seemed pleased as the cheese board was lowered between them. Two china plates went down, and the waiter said,

"On the cheese platter tonight, we have an aged cheddar, a Camembert, a Brie, a Parmaggiano-Reggiano, and a Stilton. To accompany the cheeses, we have honey, grained mustard, and olive tapenade. You will find baguette and wheat crackers, as well as crisp buttered toast."

Voldemort murmured to the waiter that they didn't need anything else and that they were paid through. The waiter nodded and wished them a pleasant evening. Bellatrix eyed the cheese platter, finally looking hungry, and Voldemort told her,

"You first."

"Oh. Hmm..." She made a little sound of delight as she sliced off some brie onto a cracker and drizzled honey onto it. When she brought it to her mouth and hummed, Voldemort suddenly felt himself go a little hard in his trousers. He shut his eyes and concentrated on the sound of the soft rain out the windows, the rain that had let up this morning but seemed to have started up again. When he opened his eyes, Bellatrix was swiping honey from her lip with a delicate sweep of her thumb, and it was too much.

"Bellatrix," he whispered desperately, and when she gave him a worried look, he shook his head helplessly, and then he could tell she understood.

"I need you," she said softly. "Master. Please."

"Come." He rose, deciding that he didn't need any cheese and he didn't care if anyone saw his erection. He pulled Bellatrix's chair back and put his hand between her shoulders when she stood. He guided her quickly out of the restaurant and down the corridor to a secluded spot near a window. He put his hands on her shoulders and stared down at her wide eyes, at her full lips, and he told her,

"Take one last look at this dress, Bella, because the instant we get to the flat, it'll be Vanished right off your skin. You understand me?"

"Yes, My Lord," she whispered. He bent to kiss her, crushing her mouth and listening to the rain outside, and then he Disapparated, taking her with him.


	4. Chapter 4

27 Rosary Gardens, London

17 July 1970

"Evanesco."

Bellatrix gasped as her plum-coloured gown was Vanished straight off of her body. Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow at her and reminded her,

"I warned you."

He bent down to kiss her, and he tasted like the dry wine they'd shared. His hand dragged from her hip up over her waist and to her breast, where he squeezed gently and pulled his thumb over her firm nipple. Bellatrix gasped as his lips moved from hers to the skin beneath her neck. That felt good, so very good, and she arched her back against his hand and his mouth.

"Why are you so damned short?" Voldemort demanded in a growl, and Bellatrix laughed a little. He seemed like he was only kidding a little bit, actually, as though it really irritated him that she didn't even reach his shoulder. Finally he stood up and snarled, "No matter."

He swept his right hand beneath Bellatrix's thighs and caught her back in his left arm. He had her snugly in his arms before Bellatrix knew what was happening. She stared up at him with wide eyes, shock going through her as her arms snaked up around his shoulders. His eyes stayed straight ahead, his gaze cold and detached. He carried Bellatrix into the bedroom and set her down on the bed, standing beside it as she arranged herself more carefully on the pillows. She started to slide her knickers down over her hips, and when he didn't protest, she tossed the underwear away.

He started methodically undressing, taking off his suit jacket and tie and then Banishing each item of clothing to the wardrobe. He got all the way down to his black, rather tight-fitting underwear, and Bellatrix couldn't help but stare. He was so achingly handsome, his face chiseled and sharp and his eyes piercing. His arms and chest were toned just so, and the bulge in his underwear made her throb and go utterly wet between her legs.

"Enjoying the view?" Voldemort asked in a hard tone, pulling his underwear down and off and Banishing it with the rest of his clothes,

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix said honestly. He turned to face her then, and for a moment he looked so angry that she was utterly terrified of him. She felt a little buzz of fear and whispered, "There."

"Push me out, Bella," Voldemort ordered her. She almost couldn't believe that he was doing this right now, when they were both naked, but she shut her eyes and concentrated hard on the idea of shoving him away. She couldn't get him out. She tried to build a wall up between them, but he managed to view the previous night from her perspective - the feel of being curled up against him, of his warm skin and his steady breath beneath her as she drifted off to sleep. Bellatrix yanked and pulled and pushed, and finally she felt him extract himself from her mind. She opened her eyes, and he tipped his head as he shrugged,

"Not a terrible first try. You'll go again tomorrow, and the day after, until you can shove me out."

"All right," she whispered. He started to climb up onto the bed, and as his fingers went between her legs, he mumbled,

"Fifty Galleons says... mm-hmm. Drenched. As per usual."

"I don't walk around like this," Bellatrix giggled quietly, trying to catch her breath as he twisted two fingers into her and started to work his thumb on her clit.

"No?" His voice hummed against her skin as he kissed the top of her breast. "Then why do I always find you like this?"

He was mocking her, she knew, but she played his game anyway. She held the sides of his head as he planted harsh kisses all over her chest, and she rolled her hips against his hand as she admitted,

"I can't help but be wet around you, My Lord. You're a very arousing wizard."

He lifted his gaze to her and smirked, and she felt him pull his hand from her and spread her legs. His fingers were replaced by his cock, and he started to pump his hips. He sat up and back a little on his knees, seizing her waist. His face twisted a bit, looking almost as if he were in pain, and he admitted,

"It's not going to last long."

"That's all right," Bellatrix whispered, absorbing the feel of his deep, slow thrusts and struggling to keep her eyes open. "I just want to make you happy, My Lord."

"You do, Bella." He quickened his hips a little and met her eyes as he panted, "This feels good, doesn't it?"

He didn't just mean the sex, she knew. He didn't just mean right now, right this instant, with his cock sheathed within her. He meant this, all of this, whatever odd dynamic had developed between them that led to a shared bed and dinners that were most definitely dates. She just nodded and whispered,

"Yes, Master. It feels very good."

He wrenched his eyes shut then, and she could tell by his face and the choked sound he made that he was finishing. He was right; he had hardly lasted at all compared to previous encounters. And he was a man in his forties. Something had pushed him over the phantom edge more quickly than usual tonight, and though she couldn't pin it down, she could feel it right along with him. She shut her eyes and felt his lips touch hers, and he murmured against her mouth,

"You're pretty. I like to look at you."

That was his way of reciprocating her reply to his biting question about enjoying the view. She could tell he was trying to even things out just a tiny bit, though there was no debate in anyone's mind about who was in charge.

He pulled out of her body and let his seed trickle between them onto the sheets. Bellatrix reached for her wand and surreptitiously cleaned them both up, and then very suddenly she found herself curled up against him like she'd been the night before. She took a deep, shaking breath, pressing her lips to the bare skin covering his ribs, and she informed him,

"I don't like people, generally speaking."

"Neither do I," he replied matter-of-factly. Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and added,

"But I like you very much, My Lord."

He just nodded silently, his throat bobbing. If there was something he wanted to say, he didn't do it, but Bellatrix could read the hint of uncertainty in his eyes, and that was enough for her. She kissed at his chest more firmly and whispered,

"I only hope that I do my job well enough, Master. That I bring you pleasure. Some measure of happiness."

"You do your job very well, Bellatrix," he said. "That's why I want you to come with me tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." She sat up a little and shoved her curls from her eyes. "What's tomorrow?"

"A new attack on some Muggles," he told her. "Just you and I. Leeds. Make a big stir, give the Ministry a splitting headache. How's that for a raise?"

"Oh, My Lord." Bellatrix suddenly felt like she'd been handed an invaluable gift and was afraid of destroying it. She shook a little as she nodded and promised him, "I won't let you down. I'll be careful but unforgiving, Master."

"I know." He tucked her curls behind her ear and leaned forward to kiss her again. Bellatrix felt his hands trail down her sides, and she shivered as he brought her over to straddle his lap. He was soft beneath her, but it didn't matter. He was propped up on the pillows and she was perched with her chest on his, and when he took her face and kissed her, it felt more intimate than usual.

She felt a buzz in her head and knew he'd come inside. She grunted a little to signal to him that she'd sensed his entry, but he kissed her harder than ever. She struggled as though she were drowning, like his presence was the water around her. She mentally kicked and fought, constructing mighty fortresses and walls in an instant. She shoved hard at his presence, and even as he reached for an image, she smacked the face of his invasion with all she had. Suddenly he pulled her face off of his, and he stared up at her in awe as his breath quickened.

"Did I do it?" Bellatrix asked, and he just nodded once.

"Good girl," he whispered, and Bellatrix felt a surge of pride go through her. His thumb dragged beneath her eye as he admitted, "I don't think I've given you enough credit, Miss Black. I look forward to seeing you help me melt some row houses in Leeds tomorrow."

Her eyes must have glinted at that, and she felt a crooked smile come across her face, for Voldemort laughed a little and shook his head.

"Where'd you come from?" His voice was a little unsteady, and Bellatrix frowned at the question.

"The House of Black," she said simply, and he scoffed, a little amused sound. He shook his head and marveled,

"Cruel. Beautiful. Amusing. Intelligent. Skilled. Malicious. An almost unfathomable combination, Bella. How did I manage to have you come crawling into my office begging to serve me?"

"You earned my humble service the same way you've earned everything else," she informed him, shifting her hips a little as she felt him start to go hard again beneath her. "By being the Dark Lord himself." She cycled her hips a little and gave him a questioning look. He nodded and told her, not for the first time,

"I find I do rather like you, Miss Bellatrix Black."

* * *

Beck Road, Leeds

18 July 1970

Leeds was a rather pitiful place. A red brick building labeled as a 'Methodist Church' was practically falling down in between a fish and chip shop and a laundromat that looked like no clothes could emerge clean. Bellatrix walked with Lord Voldemort in the dreary early morning along the sidewalk, and he gestured across the street.

"There," he said, pointing at a row of four semi-detached red brick houses. "They're still asleep inside probably."

Bellatrix looked around and noted, "There won't be many witnesses, My Lord."

"There will be when the people inside come out screaming," he pointed out. "And then they'll see us Disapparate. So, what they'll tell the Aurors who investigate is that a tall man in a suit and a little woman with curly black hair were standing there and then vanished with a pop."

"They'll know it was you," Bellatrix protested, feeling a little confused. Voldemort cocked an eyebrow up at her and said,

"They'll strongly suspect it was me, but they won't be able to prove it. And that's just perfect, I should think. Now. First thing's first. Do you know the incantation for the Air on Fire Hex?"

"Air on Fire?" Bellatrix repeated. She raked her mind but shook her head. "I think we learnt about it in Defence lessons. It makes the air unbearably hot, as though an invisible fire is burning?"

"That's right," Voldemort nodded patiently. "The incantation is Ariacendio. Draw a circle with your wand. Go on. Do it for all four of those houses."

Bellatrix felt quite nervous all of a sudden. This was so brazen, to use Dark Magic in the middle of a Muggle street. And she was terrified she was going to fail him. But she pulled her wand out, aimed it at the house all the way on the right, circled her wand, and said firmly, "Ariacendio."

She watched as a ring of glowing orange shot from her wand and swept over the house. She repeated the spell for the three other houses in the row, and then she waited. Voldemort looked like a child waiting for Christmas morning; he was practically twitching with excitement beside her. Suddenly there was a bloodcurdling shriek from one of the houses, and then Bellatrix heard a woman's voice scream,

"Herbert! Help! I'm on fire! It's hot! It's so hot!"

"Get out of the fucking house!"

"Phone the police! Something's wrong!"

"It's the Russians! The Chinese! We're under attack!"

"GET OUTSIDE! IT'S FUCKING BURNING LIKE MAD!"

One by one, the voices from inside the houses added onto one another, becoming a cacophony of tortured screams and desperate moans. People started stumbling out the front doors, their faces and arms covered in blisters and red burns. Women were in hair curlers and frilly nightgowns; men were in pyjama trousers and nothing else. Everyone stumbled down the stairs of the row houses and up from the garden flats, and people started screaming at one another, trying to figure what had happened.

"Go to the chip shop and phone the fire brigade, Herbert!" One woman rubbed at her skin as she yelled, quickly realising that was precisely the wrong approach. She screamed and fell to her knees, and a man came dashing across the street, a junky old car pausing so he could run.

"Did either of you see anything?" The man ran up to Bellatrix and Voldemort, his eyes frightened and his face looking flushed. "It was hot as hell inside that house. Did you see... have you any..."

He trailed off then, for Voldemort was just staring at the man with an expressionless face that must have been profoundly unnerving. Bellatrix cleared her throat and said to the Muggle,

"Best call the fire brigade, then. Have them take a look."

The Muggle, Herbert, flicked his eyes back and forth between Voldemort and Bellatrix and seemed more frightened than ever. He stumbled backward a few steps, and Bellatrix was surprised when Voldemort pulled out his wand, aimed it right at the man, and said firmly,

"Avada Kedavra!"

The man crumpled down instantly in death, a flash of green light signaling his demise. The woman who had called him by name earlier let out a mighty scream from where she was kneeling in pain, and as she came running across the street, Bellatrix raised her own wand and shouted,

"Stupefy!"

The woman was socked by the Stunning Spell, the blue light caressing her as she flew backward and fell to the ground. The Muggles who had come running out of the 'burning' houses were silent for a horrified moment, and then they all looked at one another as they tried to discern what exactly was happening. Before they had the chance, Voldemort grabbed Bellatrix's arm and Disapparated, taking her by Side-Along.

They came to in the flat in Rosary Gardens, and Bellatrix was breathless with excitement. She giggled like mad and paced quickly through the sitting-room, putting her hands to her head as she recalled,

"The... the hex worked perfectly! They were so confused! Then you killed that one Muggle, just killed him right in front of the rest of them. Oh, it was so perfect. It was so delicious and I -"

She was cut off by his kiss then. Voldemort had seized her face in his hands, the length of his wand pressed against her cheek as he crushed her mouth until she couldn't breathe. She could tell, then, that he was more than a little hot-blooded from all this. Still, it was thrilling when he pushed her roughly against the wall and let his wand clatter to the ground. He ripped her own wand from her hand and tossed it down with his, seizing her waist in his hands and using impressive wandless magic to Levitate her. She felt like she'd been glued to the wall, for he released his hold on her, but she stayed hovering a ways off the ground.

"Knickers off, damn it. Now!" Voldemort reached under her skirt and yanked hard at her knickers, eliciting a cry of pain from Bellatrix as he snatched them and wrenched them down over her hips and knees. She kicked them away, still stuck mysteriously to the wall at what seemed like a convenient level for him given their height difference. She watched his fingers tremble as he unbuttoned the placket of his trousers, and when he pulled himself out, he quickly touched at her sopping wet womanhood and smirked.

"Just like always," he teased her, his voice smooth as he brought both her hands above her head. He pinned both wrists against the wall, squeezing tightly, and then he aimed himself at her entrance and drove himself in. He started pounding her, started rocketing his hips against hers, and Bellatrix wrapped her legs around his waist. He wouldn't let her move her hands, which was more than a little arousing. She stared right into his eyes as he drilled her against the wall, and soon enough everything started to feel warm and tight.

"I'm going to come," she told him, because it felt in that moment like the right thing to say. He shook his head and whispered,

"Not until you have my permission."

He sped up his hips, grinding more firmly against her, and Bellatrix wrenched her eyes shut. She tried not to finish, tried not to feel the delicious way his hard cock was filling her and rubbing at her. His hand tightened around her wrists, and then his lips were beside her ear as he whispered,

"You like it."

She was shocked by that, by the way that hadn't come out like a taunt. Instead it was like an observation, one he seemed to enjoy making. He liked that she liked this.

"Yes," she whispered, arching her back away from the wall in a desperate attempt not to finish. It was no use; she could feel that she'd passed the point of no return. She gasped for air and whispered quickly, "Please. Please, My Lord, Please."

"Yes." He kissed the skin under her ear and groaned as he felt her clenching around him. "Yes. Good girl. Mmph. You did a good job this morning in Leeds. You did. I was proud of you."

His ebullient praise was like honey, like the sweetest words that anyone had ever spoken. She moaned as he bucked his hips a few times and huffed against her neck, spilling himself up into her and finally releasing her wrists. Bellatrix felt the blood and the feeling come tingling back into her hands as she shook them out. He released whatever wandless spell he'd used to bind her to the wall, carefully lowering her. He tucked himself away in his trousers and bent down to pick up their wands. He held Bellatrix's out to her, and she took it once she'd pulled her knickers back on. She nodded her gratitude, just staring into his eyes for a long moment before she finally said,

"Thank you for taking me with you this morning."

"It was my pleasure," he said, throwing up an eyebrow. He sniffed lightly and told her, "I need to go to Malfoy Manor to fill them in. It's important everyone be on the same page with these attacks and the ensuing chaos."

"Yes, Master. I understand." Bellatrix bowed her head, feeling utterly shocked when his voice said very firmly,

"You're to come with me. You were there, after all."

Bellatrix flicked her eyes up, feeling more surprised than she could ever remember feeling. Her mouth fell open a little, but Voldemort's voice was hard as he commanded her,

"You look like a teenager going to a pub with friends. Go get dressed in something more professional. Clean yourself up. We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix dipped into a reverential gesture and then scurried toward the bedroom, her heart pounding like she'd just run ten miles.

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor

18 July 1970

"My Lord." The murmurs went up as soon as he stepped into the meeting-room where Voldemort had gathered a small group. Abraxas Malfoy, Yaxley, Dolohov, Rookwood, Mulciber, Nott, and Avery stood from their chairs round the table, all looking a little confused as Bellatrix stepped in behind him. She kept her face hung like a whipped dog, obediently going to the empty chair beside Abraxas Malfoy. When Voldemort sat, he gestured, and everyone else sat with him. They all stared at Bellatrix, but she kept her face down with her cheeks going red. Voldemort completely ignored the fuss, and he folded his hands on the table as he said,

"This morning, I killed one Muggle in Leeds after my associate used an Air on Fire Hex in their row houses. She also Stupefied a second Muggle."

Everyone's eyes flicked to Bellatrix again, some hovering there for a moment. Associate. She. They weren't missing his words, but Voldemort just kept on crisply.

"Miss Black and I Disapparated in plain sight of at least a dozen Muggles. They also witnessed the Killing Curse and a Stunning Spell, and they experienced burns from the air in their houses."

"My Lord," said Augustus Rookwood, "Just before I came here from the Ministry, I heard two wizards from the Obliviators' office talking quickly in a corridor. An emergency, they were saying. Leeds. Get everyone available."

"Good," Voldemort nodded. "Then they have means of sensing our attacks, but not preventing them. They'll need to Obliviate all the witnesses, to fix any damaged goods inside the burned houses, to ensure that there's some logical explanation for why the people in the houses have burns. Or they can heal them up themselves. It'll be a lot of work. This will buy us a week or so before our next attack. Mulciber and Yaxley. Your turn next."

"Gladly, My Lord," Mulciber nodded, and Yaxley said,

"I'll submit a plan to you in a few days, My Lord, if that suits you."

Voldemort nodded crisply. He sniffed and asked Rookwood,

"Your expansion of the espionage net. How goes it?"

"A new spy planted just this morning in the Floo Network office, Master," Rookwood said proudly. "Raven Kenny. She's nearly a hundred but clear-headed; they won't suspect her. She will keep us apprised of any movement in the Floo Network that indicates Dumbledore's allies are meeting, gathering, et cetera."

"Very good," Voldemort nodded. He turned his face to Bellatrix then, noticing the way she was watching him as though he were performing a great show from his seat. She was very pretty just now, he thought. He licked his bottom lip and told her,

"Bellatrix, your work this morning was skilled. With no hesitation, you assisted in sowing chaos in Leeds. Your loyalty and ruthlessness are an example to your fellow Death Eaters."

Her mouth fell open then, because he'd never referred to her as one of his actual Death Eaters. But she had the Mark, and she fought for him. Why not use the term? The others shifted in their seats, all of them apparently unaware that the eighteen-year-old Bellatrix Black was a full-fledged Death Eater. Voldemort cleared his throat and asked Rookwood suddenly,

"Rodolphus Lestrange. He's working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports?"

"He is, Master," Rookwood confirmed. "He's a spy for us, though he rarely hears anything of note."

"See to it, Yaxley and Rookwood, that Lestrange is transferred to a more valuable department. I think he might serve our cause better if he had more interesting information to share."

"I can get him into Magical Law Enforcement, My Lord," Yaxley suggested, and Voldemort nodded.

"Him and his brother both, if you can manage it. Anything else from anyone present?"

No one raised their hands, though he could read the surprise on everyone's face about this abrupt meeting with such revelatory discussion. Voldemort rose and walked briskly from the room toward his office. Bellatrix didn't follow him; she knew better. But Abraxas Malfoy followed him, and on the way to Voldemort's office, Malfoy said,

"My Lord. Congratulations on the happenings in Leeds, sir."

"Mmm-hmm." Voldemort kept walking, turning the corner in the corridor and striding onward to his office. He had a few inches on Malfoy, so the other man struggled to keep pace. Malfoy said breathlessly,

"My Lord, I had no idea that Miss Black had been named a Death Eater."

"No, you didn't, because it wasn't any business of yours." Voldemort stopped outside his office, whirled round, and raised his eyebrows. "Have you some opinion on the matter, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's pale cheeks coloured, but he shook his head and said quickly, "N-no, Master. My only opinion is that your choices are final and correct. It is just... I wonder if I am permitted to share that information, should Narcissa ask after her sister in my presence again."

"No. Of course you may not," Voldemort snapped. He gave Malfoy a disgusted look and demanded, "Do you know the restrictions and demands of being part of this organisation, or don't you? Secrecy at every level is of the utmost importance. Critical importance. And you will maintain secrecy, or this Manor will be undergoing a name change and a shift in ownership. Anything else, Malfoy?"

Abraxas Malfoy shrank backward, suddenly looking very small. He shook his head vigorously, seeming quite afraid as he murmured,

"No, Master. Nothing else, sir. Please do let me know if there is anything more I can do to serve you, My Lord."

"Serve me by going away. I find you obnoxious just now." Voldemort opened the door to his office and slammed it shut behind him, stalking over to his desk and sitting in the heavy leather chair. He drummed his fingers on his desk, smirking a little to himself as he realised just what was happening at the Ministry right now.

The Improper Use of Magic Office would be frantically trying to pin down exactly who had brazenly committed murder and assault with magic in the presence of Muggles. The Wizengamot would be trying to figure a way to press charges on Voldemort without any hard evidence that he'd done anything wrong. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes - the Obliviators and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee - would be scrambling to fix the fallout of what had happened in Leeds. Minister Eugenia Jenkins would go days without sleep, using Invigoration Draught to keep herself wide-eyed throughout all the endless meetings and check-ins.

And then, as soon as the Minister and the weary departments got their feet on the ground again, there would be another attack. And another, and another, until the people threw their hands up and insisted that Jenkins was too weak to handle the threat of Lord Voldemort. One by one, offices and departments in the Ministry would fall to more open control by Voldemort, and they would begin implementing policies that painted him as a conquering hero. Everything would fall into place, but the wheels had just begun moving.

Voldemort looked up at the sound of gentle knocking on his office door. He knew it was her. He could tell, somehow. He cleared his throat and said firmly,

"Enter."

She did, pushing open the door and shutting it quietly behind her. She looked like a warrior today, clad in a black woolen tunic with her waist bound by a leather corset. She had leather gauntlets on and a pleated leather skirt over woolen leggings and high, flat-heeled boots. Her curls had been pulled halfway back, just enough to keep them from her eyes, which she'd lined heavily with kohl. She looked mildly terrifying, wholly beautiful, and Voldemort found himself pulling himself slowly to his feet.

"A Death Eater," Bellatrix whispered, and he just nodded.

"It's what you are."

"Is it, Master?" Her eyes watered as she took a few steps into the office. He nodded again and reminded her,

"This morning you proved your courage and your loyalty. Your lack of hesitation. The celebratory bliss you felt after doing what you did. And you do your job very well, that job that I assigned you right here in this office. Why would I not call you a Death Eater, Bellatrix? Do you not want the title?"

"I want it more than I want air to breathe, Master," she assured him. She took another step toward his desk, and he walked around it so he could loom over her properly. He'd already had her body, an hour and a half ago and the night before. Still, he wanted her. There would never be enough of her, he reckoned.

Bellatrix reached up to brazenly put her hands on his cheeks, and she whispered,

"In this office, I first felt your power in all its magnificence. I tasted you here."

"I became addicted to you here," he said sharply, before he could stop himself. He shut his eyes and chewed his lip, and he amended, "I became addicted to..."

To the physical sensations you provide me, he wanted to say, but he couldn't. Instead, he heard himself whisper,

"To you. Bella."

He opened his eyes, covering her hands with his, bending to touch his lips against hers and wanting desperately to be at the flat so he could make love to her in the bed.

Make love.

What a silly, ridiculous term for the act, he thought quickly. He wanted to fuck her. No. He wanted to make love to her.

"Bella," he whispered, this time with his lips a hair's breath from hers. He found himself pushing her gently against the wall and kissing her deeply, so much more deeply than he'd done against the wall outside the Savoy that first time. When he pulled away to catch his breath, he tasted the vanilla and black pepper she always carried, and he found her eyes, and he whispered again, "Bella."

"Yes, Master?" She seemed mildly concerned by the way he kept saying her name over and over, and her hands tightened on his cheeks. Finally he managed to swallow past the thick lump in his throat, and he reminded her,

"Abraxas Malfoy is throwing a summer gala a week from today. A hundred or so of my closest allies. To make everyone feel included as the movement heats up."

"Yes. I'd heard about it," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort carefully considered his words then. Her sister would be there with Lucius Malfoy. Her parents would probably be there, too, though not her blood traitor sister Andromeda. Dozens of members of the most elite pureblood families would be there. All of his named Death Eaters. He swallowed hard, desperately trying to find his voice as he informed her,

"I intend on dancing with you there."

Bellatrix's eyes boiled over with tears, and she nodded frantically as she whispered, "Yes. Dancing. All right."

"And you'll come with me, on my arm." He felt his ears go hot as he suggested that, and it only got worse when he shut his eyes and clarified, "You are a Death Eater, Bella, but you're something more than that, too, and it's important that people understand precisely what you are."

"But, My Lord..." Bellatrix sounded confused, and when he opened his eyes, she shrugged and said helplessly, "I don't fully understand what I am."

"You're mine," he said, as if it were obvious. "Not just your body, you understand? It isn't just about you on your knees in this office. I enjoy my time with you. I... you're a good cook and I like to watch you move about the kitchen. I like to fall asleep with you. I like to wake up with you. I have no term for any of this, Bellatrix, but I know that you are mine, and I value your existence differently from the rest of them. So you'll attend the party on my arm, and you'll dance with me. Is that quite clear?"

She smiled then, looking like she'd received the very best news anyone could get. She nodded and whispered,

"Quite clear, My Lord."


	5. Chapter 5

27 Rosary Gardens

24 July 1970

Bellatrix huffed with frustration as she stared at herself in the mirror. She carefully brought her thick braid, through which she'd twined silver threads, into a bun on the back of her head and poked pins in to secure it. She watched as Voldemort came stepping out of the bathroom, looking more than a little surprised at the sight of Bellatrix as he worked the buttons of his tuxedo.

"I know. I know." Bellatrix glanced down at her dress and said, "It looks very silly."

"It does not look silly," he told her simply. Bellatrix pinched her lips into a line and studied herself again. It was a faux pas to wear black to a formal summer occasion, even for a witch like Bellatrix who almost exclusively wore dark colorist. She was game for the occasional dark purple, but even that was the wrong hue for a 'summer gala.' So she'd worn emerald green silk, with thin straps that let the bodice drape a little around her skinny frame. The low waist was bound up by a cinch of silk, from which endless yards of the material cascaded, moving like water when she walked. It was a pretty dress, but it was green, and she felt silly.

"You look like a very suitable mascot for Slytherin," Voldemort informed her, and then Bellatrix couldn't help but laugh. She adjusted her pearl-and-diamond choker and studied him up and down.

"You look magnificent, Master," she said honestly. He turned up half his mouth as he carefully adjusted his sleeves. This past week had seen the two of them grow far more familiar. Each night had meant quiet talking about past and present, little anecdotes being traded back and forth in the darkness through whispers.

She'd learnt that he had known some of his closest associates at Hogwarts, that they'd known him then as Tom Riddle. She'd learnt that he'd spent some time working at Borgin and Burkes before traveling round Europe learning ever more Dark Arts. His favourite color was emerald green, the very colour Bellatrix wore now, and he attributed that to Hogwarts being the first place he ever really felt at home. His favourite type of food was seafood, for which he'd developed a taste during time on the Mediterranean. He found modern gimmicks like rock music to be obnoxious, and he much preferred the older ways of socialising, by both Muggle and Magical standards.

Bellatrix had given him that information and more in return. She didn't really have any friends. She'd applied for seven jobs just before graduation and had been flat-out told by one shopkeep that she was untrustworthy. She liked black because it was simple and dark, and she couldn't explain it beyond that. She liked to eat pasta; she'd eat noodles till the end of time if they wouldn't make her balloon up in size. She didn't like rock music, either; she preferred a well-played violin.

In the mornings, he'd wake and hustle to the bathroom to relieve himself and clean his teeth and shave, and Bellatrix would shamelessly breathe in the scent he'd left behind on his pillow. She always made them dinner, and they'd talk whilst she cooked. They talked about Voldemort's mission, about his plans, about the Death Eaters who frustrated him and the ones he thought he needed to keep an eye on. They talked about Andromeda and her Mudblood paramour. They talked about the rain, about the sunshine, about the heat wave that had settled over London. They talked about everything and nothing. Their silences were comfortable. Their conversations were even more so. The last week had been extraordinary, at least in Bellatrix's mind. She'd begun to know - really know - the man she served with every ounce of her being.

Today she was afraid of embarrassing him. He wanted her to walk into that party on his arm, and if she looked a fright, he'd be embarrassed or angry. She didn't want to fail him.

"Bella." He snapped her out of her reverie, and almost immediately Bellatrix realised he'd been in her mind without her noticing. His face was serious as he pulled out of her consciousness and assured her, "I will not be embarrassed of you. You look very pretty."

"Thank you." Bellatrix chewed at her copper-painted lip, glad she'd used charms to keep her makeup in place all night. She frowned a little at Voldemort's tie and said softly, "It's a bit crooked. May I..."

"Please." He lowered his hands, and as Bellatrix straightened his tie, she raised her eyes to his and smiled a little. He'd put pomade in his hair and side-parted it; he usually combed it straight back. It looked good like this, she thought. He looked wonderful. Suddenly she wished they had more time before they needed to leave, and clearly he thought the same thing. His hands went to the silk that covered her narrow waist, and he quirked up a little smile at her as he said genuinely,

"I am very glad you came into my office that night asking for a position of some kind."

"I didn't realise all the positions it would involve, Master," Bellatrix teased, and he choked out a little laugh, shaking his head and rolling his eyes a little. His smile grew a bit, but he sighed and said,

"We should go. I ought to greet people at the start of the party."

"On your arm, then?" Bellatrix said, and when he held his arm out, she placed her hand carefully over his and squeezed a little. He shot her one last look, something so weighty and significant that Bellatrix found herself abruptly breathless. But she didn't have time to register what the look had meant, for they Disapparated in tandem. On the other side of the pinching darkness were the gardens of Malfoy Manor, bathed in the golden light of the evening.

There were floating flower lanterns to accommodate the coming twilight, and round tables with formal decorations been arranged all round the gardens. There was a small orchestra playing lively but charming music near a wooden dance floor that had been set up. A few small children flitted about, and people stood in small clumps, lost to conversation. A few heads turned once people started realising that Lord Voldemort himself had come to the gala. Those heads dipped into respectful nods, and for a long moment, Voldemort stood in silence.

"Everything all right, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked quietly, and he said down to her,

"Wanted to check and be sure there are no spies or enemies present. It's all clear."

Bellatrix supposed this would be a good time and place for a raid, though she knew there had been wards set up round the party to carefully admit only those on a list. She kept her hand on Voldemort's as he walked confidently to where Abraxas Malfoy stood with his fifteen-year-old son Lucius, Bellatrix's sister Narcissa, and the two Lestrange brothers.

Bellatrix's stomach churned a little at the sight of Rodolphus. They'd been a couple for more than a year, and though it had just been a school fling, it had felt very significant at the time. Rodolphus had been the one to cut things off, citing Bellatrix's cruel nature. Voldemort must had sensed Bellatrix's unease, for he rotated his hand and laced his fingers through hers, dropping their arms to their sides. He slowed his steps and reminded her in a very quiet voice,

"A month ago you were a virgin."

"How quickly things change, My Lord," she murmured up to him, and he nodded.

"Don't they?" He led her more confidently than ever to the cluster of people, all of whom turned and gave him respectful bows and dips.

"My Lord!" Abraxas Malfoy said happily, his eyes flicking to where Voldemort's hand clutched Bellatrix's. Malfoy's voice faltered just a little then. "Thank you very much indeed for coming. It sounds like everything went swimmingly in Suffolk last night."

"Now, now, Abraxas," Voldemort scolded, his voice almost soothing, "that's hardly party talk, is it?"

"Apologies, Master," Malfoy murmured. He'd been talking about Mulciber's attack on a Mudblood, his Squib wife, and their Squib daughter. The three had been killed in their home, and early this morning, the Mudblood's sister had found them all. Now the Ministry was buried under frantic letters begging for an explanation, for reassurance that Muggle-borns and Squibs were safe. The Ministry could provide no such assurance, of course. Still, for Malfoy to bring it up at a party was gauche and dangerous. He seemed eager to change the subject, and instead to turned his attention to Bellatrix and said,

"Good evening, Miss Black. Your sister was just telling me about how you managed to spend your final four weeks of school in detentions. Well done, I must say."

Narcissa's face went scarlet, and she quickly laughed in a high-pitched voice as Bellatrix shot her a glare. She stuttered out something that was half-apology, half-explanation as she said that she was just giving an example of someone standing up to Dumbledore.

"It's fine. Hope you're doing well, Cissy. Good to see you, Lucius. Madam Malfoy." Bellatrix made her way round the circle, her eyes finally settling on the Lestrange brothers. Rabastan was shorter and more thickly built, a good solid Quidditch player. He was a year older, but Rodolphus was the one who already looked a man. He had a thick mane of wavy brown hair, his tan skin dusted with freckles and his honey-colored eyed locked into a constant look of scepticism. He was tall and wiry, though still a bit shorter than Lord Voldemort. Bellatrix swallowed hard and stared right at Rodolphus as Voldemort asked how the brothers were liking their new posts in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He received their assurance that they'd pass along as much information from the clerks as possible, and then Rodolphus turned his eyes to Bellatrix and nodded.

"You look well, Bella."

She put her lips into a flat line. "Nice seeing you, Dolph."

"Well." Voldemort kept his voice airy and light, but his fingers tightened around Bellatrix's. "I think I should like something to drink."

"Just over there, My Lord," Malfoy said, gesturing to a bar that had been set up and was staffed by a pimply-faced wizard that Bellatrix knew was a not-so-sharp member of the Crabbe family. A distant cousin of hers by way of her grandmother Irma.

"Malfoy, do come with me so we can discuss Suffolk in more detail," Voldemort suggested. He glanced down to Bellatrix, squeezing her hand a little more as he told her, "Stay and catch up with your sister. What would like to drink?"

She couldn't help smiling up at him, and it took her a long moment to find the breath and the presence of mind to finally say, "A gin and tonic, please?"

"Of course." He shocked her then by putting his hand on her shoulder for a moment, and as he walked away, Bellatrix felt dizzy. She watched realisation come over the faces of Narcissa, Lucius, Rabastan, and Rodolphus. Bellatrix cleared her throat rather roughly and asked,

"So, how's everyone's summer? Been a bit rainy, eh?"

"Bella," Narcissa breathed, her eyes flitting back and forth between the bar and Bellatrix. "Is he... are you... what exactly...?"

She couldn't formulate a coherent question, but she didn't need to. Bellatrix just shrugged and demanded lightly,

"Does it matter?"

"No, I suppose not." Narcissa lowered her eyes, and beside her, Lucius saved them all by asking in far too enthusiastic a voice,

"Anyone paying attention to Quidditch? Seems like the Chudley Cannons may have a real shot at the Cup this year, hmm?"

He and the Lestrange brothers got lost in a discussion about Quidditch then, but not before Rodolphus gave Bellatrix a look of utter shock. He simply couldn't absorb the notion that Bellatrix - the girl he'd dumped just a few months earlier over just such a matter as this - now belonged to the Dark Lord himself. The whole idea of it made Bellatrix puff up a bit, and as Voldemort came striding back over with a gin and tonic in each hand, she said to the group,

"See you all later."

"Bye, Bella," Narcissa said quietly, and Rodolphus just stared as Bellatrix went and happily took her drink from Lord Voldemort.

An hour later, they were sitting at a table on their second drink each, watching as people socialised and started to trickle out onto the dance floor. Voldemort had spent a good amount of time greeting everyone in attendance, making sure everyone felt that the Dark Lord cared deeply about their work and families. He didn't, of course, but it was important that people think he did. Now he sat beside Bellatrix, looking devastatingly handsome, and she finally gathered the courage to tell him,

"I don't think I've ever felt such glee at someone else's confusion as when you took my drink order in front of Rodolphus Lestrange, Master."

He fought not to grin then, his face twisting a little as he shook his head and sipped from his gin and tonic.

"Just need the boy to be very clear about what exactly he gave up," he said, and Bellatrix's heart raced a bit. She didn't often consider the age difference between herself and Voldemort, but right now it seemed appropriate and even sexy that he was so much older. December of 1926, he'd said. So he was not quite twenty-five years older than her. She'd be turning nineteen in a few months. He'd turn forty-four in the winter. For some reason, as Bellatrix flicked her eyes over to Rodolphus, he now seemed like a gangly child. The man beside her was fully grown, and that thought made Bellatrix flush wet.

"There," she whispered, feeling Voldemort buzz into her head with nonverbal Legilimency. She shut her eyes and gave a halfhearted attempt to pushing him out, but he plucked out a dream she'd had a few nights earlier. She'd dreamed about him kneeling between her parted legs, using a vibration spell from his wand to stimulate her and watching closely as her walls snapped together in a powerful climax. Suddenly he pulled himself from her head and made a strange little sound from beside her. Bellatrix opened her eyes and found herself a little breathless as he asked,

"Is that what you want?"

"It was just a dream, My Lord," Bellatrix said, though this conversation had happened before about knives and being tied up. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes flashing with hunger, and he ordered her,

"Dance with me. Now. Otherwise all these people are going to get a very nice show right here on this table."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she tried not to fall over as she rose and took his hand. She let him lead her toward the dance floor; he nodded and mumbled a few greetings to people as they passed. Most of the partygoers seemed fascinated by the way Voldemort had a young witch's hand in his, by the way the rumoured baby Death Eater was apparently more than that to the Dark Lord.

His hands felt so good on her. One hand went to the small of her back, and the other curled around her fingers. Being in his arms was like being drugged, and it took everything Bellatrix had to force her feet into motion. She finally whispered up to him,

"I have a confession to make, because if I don't say it out loud, you're going to find it in my head. And I'd rather tell you myself."

His steps faltered a little, and he shook his head as he looked away and murmured, "Don't say it, Bella. I already know."

She nodded. He probably did know that over the last week, a terrifying word had started to creep into her mind. Love. Could she love him already? Was it safe to love him? Was she a fool for doing it? It didn't matter. He already knew. His hands tightened on her body, and finally he turned his eyes back to her and nodded.

"Let's go home."

"We should finish the dance, Master," Bellatrix suggested, but he gave her a cold look, and she knew he was thinking of her fantasy. This time his voice left no room for negotiation whatsoever as he said sharply,

"Let's go home, Bellatrix."

* * *

27 Rosary Gardens

24 July 1970

"My Lord..."

Bellatrix gasped as he yanked at the zip down her back, as he shoved the dress away and wrenched her sheer knickers down. She kicked them away with her dressy silver shoes, and then she found herself tearing at his clothes, too.

"My Lord."

She hummed his name like a chant, like a prayer. She pushed his tuxedo jacket off, and he let it fall to the ground. She pulled at his bow tie, and it fluttered to the floor gracefully. His shirt was unbuttoned by her flying fingers, and when she pulled his suspenders down, she found that he'd already unbuttoned his trousers. Within a few moments, he was pushing her up onto the bed, his mouth latched to her neck as if he were a vampire.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix cried, her fingernails sinking into the skin on his back as he suckled and nipped at her neck. He'd be leaving marks, and that thought made her so aroused she had to focus on every single breath. He kept biting, sucking her skin hard between his teeth, and he lay hard against her with so much weight that she squealed. It felt so good, like he was crushing her and destroying her with his mouth. Then she felt his wand dragging down her side, a tingling sensation coming over her skin as she wrenched her eyes shut. He moved his mouth from her neck to her lips, and she drank him in as the tip of his wand continued downward.

"It was just a dream," she gasped, desperate for air. He took some of his weight off of her and started to slither downward like a snake, parting her legs carefully and dragging his wand over her abdomen. He circled the tip around her clit as he situated himself between her knees, and she murmured again, "It was just a fantasy."

"Everything is a just a fantasy until it's real," he reminded her. His left hand trailed up the inside of her thigh, and his lips matched the path on the other side. A strong sensation of vibration emanated from his wand onto her womanhood then, and his lips kissed her skin as his free hand caressed her firmly.

"My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, driving her head back against the pillow and arching her back. Her hands fisted around the blankets, squeezing the material between her fingers as everything started to go tense and hot.

"Bellatrix." Her word felt like a spell when spoken against her skin by his warm breath. He licked a line up the inside of her thigh and then kissed the crease at the top of her leg. He moved back, and Bellatrix watched him as he watched her. The vibration got stronger, and he dragged his thumb around her folds as her name came off his lips again, silk on the air. "Bellatrix..."

She lost herself then, nearly screaming from the overwhelming pleasure that crashed over her like an ocean wave. Voldemort held her hips steady and stared between her legs at her body. She knew she was clenching and clamping, that he could see that, and her eyes fluttered shut as she barely managed to squeak out,

"My... Lord..."

She felt his cock inside her then, but all she could do was lie there and absorb the sensations that came all at once. She was being filled, then left empty, over and over again. His hands were trailing up her flat stomach and caressing her breasts. His fingers were tracing down her arms and linking with hers. All the while he pumped himself inside of her, and finally she heard him say quietly,

"Look at me, Bellatrix."

She forced her eyes open, and she was shocked by the look on his face. She was used to cold eyes from him. She was used to his lips being in a stern line. She was used to him barking commands and being cruel. To be certain, all of that was sexy in its own way. But the way he looked right now was unbelievable. His lips were shaking and his eyes were half closed. His cheekbones were flushed pink, and as he found Bellatrix's eyes, she tried to tell him with her own face how much he meant to her. His mind, his soul, his body, his purpose, his cause, his personality. She adored every bit of him, and she tried desperately to convey that as his hips jerked a few times and then stilled. He mouthed her name silently, but she could read it on his lips as he tipped his head back and twitched inside of her.

After a few moments, Voldemort pulled himself out of her and lay behind her, and she felt his wand brush over her as he cleaned them both up. He held her for so long that Bellatrix almost fell asleep. Then, after a little while, his right hand curled around her body and squeezed at her breast, and he whispered near her ear,

"You know, Bella, your mind does cook up some rather pleasant fantasies."

She grinned and looked at him over her shoulder as his fingers trailed downward. Then she cocked up an eyebrow and teased him,

"You're not going to like what you find, Master."

He was confused until his fingers touched between her legs. She was dry, for he'd siphoned up the mess between her legs, and she hadn't gotten worked back up again. Voldemort smirked at her and said in a sly tone,

"Don't you worry; I can fix this."

"Mmph. Yes, you certainly can." Bellatrix tipped her head back a little against him as his fingers drew circles that elicited wet heat. Within just a few moments, she was soaked again, and Voldemort whispered,

"See?"

"You have... mmm... rather a distinct fascination with how wet I am at any given moment, My Lord. Seems like an inappropriate thing for an employer to fixate oh...oh... over..."

She found herself rolling her hips hard against his hand, for he'd found just the right spot and was pressing just so. Bellatrix turned her face further and felt his lips meet hers, and she kissed him through her second, easy climax that felt like the perfect dessert to what he'd done earlier. She hummed against his lips, feeling the buzz of him coming into her mind.

"There," she whispered against him, but she made no effort at all to push him out. His lips trembled against hers, and she wondered if she ought to attend to the fresh erection she felt against her back.

"No. I'm fine."

She was surprised by the lack of bite in his voice, and even more so by the way his hand shook as he pulled it away from her. Bellatrix rolled onto her back, staring up at him and hoping she wasn't out of line as she informed him,

"I liked when you were biting my neck."

"You'll have marks from that," he said matter-of-factly, and she knew he was right when he brushed his knuckles across a tender spot on her neck. She nodded and continued,

"I liked when you were heavy on me. I liked dancing with you."

Voldemort flicked his eyes around the room, apparently trying to avoid Bellatrix's gaze as he admitted, "I become something of a fool around you, Bellatrix. Sorry I cut the dance short."

"No." She reached up for his jaw, feeling it go rigid beneath her touch. "My Lord, You'll never, ever have anything to be sorry for. And you could never be a fool, no matter how hard you tried."

He shut his eyes and pulled back just a little bit, and finally he said in a shaking voice,

"Bellatrix, I... I'm not quite sure what I'm meant to say to you."

Bellatrix pulled her hand from his face, but he covered her fingers and brought them to his lips as he opened his eyes. He was still in her head, and he shook his head as Bellatrix wondered if she'd done something to anger him.

"I'm not angry," he insisted. "It's only... I haven't the right words for you, I suppose."

"I don't need any words," Bellatrix informed him. "Just you. In whatever form I'm allowed to have you."

"Good girl," Voldemort nodded, pulling her against his chest and just holding her there. Bellatrix listened to his heartbeat and started to drift off to sleep, knowing he was inside her head and finding herself completely unable to censor herself.

She was in love with him. She was enamoured with his looks, with his touch. She adored his politics and feared his power. She thought he had a surprisingly good sense of humour. She liked their meals together. She liked to dance with him. She liked to hold his hand in private and at parties. She was in love with him, irrevocably and completely.

She was his slave.

That part of all this didn't escape her. She knew full well that she'd only been granted an audience to his private presence because she'd been willing to get on her knees that first night and suckle his cock like she'd die without it. She made him feel good when he came. That was why she'd been allowed to stay in the first place, and it was still what she was to him now.

"That isn't what you are," he murmured, and then Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and forced him out of her mind.

"Please," she whispered. "It aches badly enough when the thoughts are my own."

He stared straight into her eyes and dragged his fingers over her hair. He started pulling at pins and ribbons until Bellatrix's elaborate hairdo had been unraveled entirely. He burrowed his fingers in her thick curls and told her,

"You are my servant. It's true. You're also my Death Eater. And you're also..." He paused, his throat bobbing visibly as he sniffed lightly and finally said more firmly, "My witch. You're my witch. Mine. No one else's. And you're mine completely. And I suppose that must work in reverse. I'm your wizard. In a way that no one else has ever possessed me. In a way I don't suppose anyone else ever could."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded, feeling her eyes sear. She shut them, a single tear worming down her cheek as she whispered, "Perhaps we ought to get some sleep. I know you've an early meeting tomorrow to discuss Suffolk with everyone."

"Right." He helped her get arranged on his chest then, and as she laced her arm and leg over him, she said gently,

"Goodnight, Master."

He kissed the top of her head and made a contented little sound. "Night, Bella."

* * *

Malfoy Manor

25 July 1970

Abraxas Malfoy. Both Lestrange brothers. Mulciber, Nott, and Avery. Yaxley and Rookwood. Dolohov. Igor Karkaroff. Rosier and Rowle, Selwyn, Travers, and Wilkes. And Bellatrix Black. Lord Voldemort had assembled a larger group than usual today, for today was the day after a party, and everyone needed a little reality check, lest they get too comfortable.

"Good morning," he said, pacing slowly around the large table where everyone sat. "Sorry to demand your presence so early in the... you know, I'm not sorry. I'm a morning person. What can I say?"

Bellatrix smirked where she sat, but everyone else stared straight ahead, very evidently terrified of Voldemort. He walked slowly round the table and said,

"Good work in Suffolk, Mulciber. I'm sure we don't all need a rehashing of it, but here's your obligatory praise, just the same."

He made his voice sound dull and bored. A little rattle of nervous laughter made its way round the table. Mulciber looked proud of himself and nodded. Voldemort kept walking, passing Rowle and Travers as he noted,

"We have not, in the past week or so, received any good solid information out of the Ministry. Rookwood, just what are your spies up to these days?"

"My Lord, I confess that I may not have my spies currently placed in the most strategic positions to obtain information. With your leave, Master, I will conduct some re assignments."

"Yes. Do," Voldemort nodded. A throat cleared from behind him, and Rodolphus Lestrange said,

"My Lord, for those of us working in low-level positions at the Ministry, the odds of us hearing anything worthwhile are -"

"You will speak when commanded to do so," Voldemort hissed, and Lestrange shut his mouth. Everyone around the table went silent at once. Heads bowed in submissive retreat. Hands folded on laps. Voldemort's magic crackled in the air around him as he strode toward Lestrange. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and snapped,

"Either you'll do well as my spy or you'll do well as a corpse, Lestrange; there is no in between for you now. Stop making excuses and -"

"With all due respect, I am not trying to make excuses, My Lord. It's just that -"

"SILENCE!" Voldemort slashed his wand at Lestrange and sent the young wizard soaring from his chair and smacking against the wood paneled wall. Lestrange crumpled to the ground, and Voldemort moved quickly to loom over him.

"You dare interrupt me, boy?" He kicked roughly at Lestrange's nose, drawing blood at once, and Lestrange murmured,

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Master. I meant no disrespect; I'm just a worm, and I'm so very sorry."

"Sorry that you got a spell in return for your insolence. That's what you're sorry for. Get up. Get up, Lestrange!" Voldemort dragged his wand through the air, hoisting the bleeding, battered Rodolphus Lestrange to his feet. The young man staggered to lean on his chair, clutching at what was surely a broken rib. Every eye around the table was trained on him. Every mind was wondering whether Voldemort was a moment away from killing Rodolphus Lestrange. He flicked his gaze to Bellatrix and saw that she was sitting calmly, her hands folded on the table and a look of morbid curiosity in her bright, wide eyes.

Voldemort stood close to Rodolphus Lestrange, staring down into the young man's terrified face, and he hissed,

"You disrespect me in any capacity whatsoever, and that will be the end of you. Am I quite clearly understood?"

"Very clearly, Master. I shall never interrupt you again, nor speak out of turn. And I shall do better as your spy."

"Good boy," Voldemort sneered. "Sit down."

Lestrange did, gingerly, for he seemed to be sore all over. Voldemort glanced down to see the boy's blood on his boot, and he cast a few quick spells to clean the black leather. He looked up, raked his fingers through his hair, and said,

"Rowle and Travers. I want an attack on a Mudblood Ministry employee of your choice in four days' time. Submit plans to me by tomorrow."

"Yes, Master." Rowle bowed his head, and Travers nodded eagerly. Voldemort flicked his eyes to Malfoy and demanded,

"How is compliance at the Prophet?"

"The associate editor is fully Imperiused, My Lord," Malfoy said proudly. "She is ensuring that most stories focus on the inadequacy of the Ministry in handling these attacks, as well as spinning the stories to make it clear that the victims had it coming."

"Good," Voldemort nodded. He drummed his fingers on the back of Bellatrix's chair and barked, "Dismissed!"

Everyone rose and bowed, and they all started filing from the room. Rodolphus Lestrange staggered out, supported by his brother Rabastan. When Bellatrix rose, Voldemort said quietly to her,

"My office. Five minutes."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, and he moved swiftly to avoid looking like he'd been speaking with her. He walked briskly down the corridor, past the rows of portraits, and entered his office. He stood by the window and wondered if he'd handled Lestrange correctly. Perhaps he'd gone too far. The boy seemed like he might be driven to enmity with the wrong treatment. But, then, perhaps he hadn't gone far enough. The last thing he wanted was for his followers to view him as soft or weak. He stared out the window onto the gardens that had been perfectly cleaned up after the party the night before. A gentle knock sounded on the door behind him, and Voldemort held his wand out to undo his wards and unlock the door. It creaked open, and Bellatrix's footsteps came pattering into the office. She shut the door and then stepped up to stand beside Voldemort, where she stood in silence and looked out the window with him.

"He ought to have taken a Cruciatus Curse, you know," Voldemort said, almost defensively. "To interrupt me like that. I went far too easy on him."

"My Lord, how you handle insubordination among your followers is precisely none of my business," Bellatrix insisted, and he turned his eyes to her as he nodded.

"You're right. In that room, you're one of them, and if you'd interrupted me, I'd have thrown you against a wall, too."

"I know, My Lord." She nodded, still staring out the window. He was almost frustrated by her calm, by the serenity of her response to Lestrange's punishment. He swallowed hard and asked her,

"Shall I do more to him? Follow up on the matter?"

Bellatrix was silent for a moment, so he snatched her shoulder and forced her to turn to him, and he barked,

"I asked you a question, Miss Black. Answer me. Shall I go do more to him? To the boy who broke your heart? Hmm?"

She gave him a look that unmistakably indicated that she'd taken offence. Then a steely look came over her dark eyes, and she said,

"If you want my very humble opinion, Master, then I would suggest that taking it any farther might breed discontent in him. I believe he received your message; I think he will be more careful and loyal in future."

"Is that what you think? Hmm." Voldemort circled around her like a predator around prey, but she didn't respond quite the same way she would have done even a month earlier. Then, she would have shrunk herself into a little shaking figure. Now she gave him a serious look, very nearly defiant, and so he snapped at her,

"You were with him for over a year. With Lestrange. Are you still...?"

"What? No!" Bellatrix sounded more defensive than ever, and Voldemort threw up an eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest. Bellatrix softened her tone significantly and promised him, "My only interest is with you. My political interest, my physical interest, my... my romantic interest. You are all there is to me, My Lord."

He just nodded. He wasn't going to be jealous, because jealousy indicated possessiveness and, worse, uncertainty. He could be possessive, but he wouldn't be uncertain. He sniffed a little and informed Bellatrix,

"I'm going to Paris. Leaving tomorrow evening."

He turned away from her to look out the window again, and she breathed quietly, "Paris. May I... may I ask why?"

"I need to be out of reach for the Ministry again, and I can't run off to the same London hotel whenever that need arises. In a few days, we'll have yet another strike. The Ministry is going to react like a frightened dog soon enough. They're going to get desperate; they're going to lash out and try and bring me in as a last resort. Malfoy and Yaxley already know that I'll be in France for a month."

"A month," Bellatrix repeated. She nodded, but her face looked devastated. Voldemort couldn't help but laugh at her as he realised she thought he was going alone. She seemed surprised by his laughter, but he reached to tuck her hair behind her ear and teased her,

"Did you honestly think I'd be leaving you here?" Her mouth fell open, and he dragged his fingers along her jaw as he asked, "Why would I leave my most precious toy behind?"

"Toy," she whispered, and he immediately regretted taunting her like that. He gulped and shook his head, dropping his playful smirk, and he amended,

"My witch. Why would I leave my witch behind?"

She smiled just a little and shrugged. "I'm sure you'd have plenty of fun without me, Master, like you did for the many years before you met me."

"I didn't have very much fun before I met you," he said honestly, and Bellatrix's face twisted with emotion. She pinched her lips and said quietly,

"Paris, then. Do you have a flat of your own there?"

Voldemort shifted on his feet and shook his head. "I've written ahead and rented a room in a boutique hotel in the Sixth Arrondissement. We'll Portkey there tomorrow night. Paris has a large wizarding district, but we'll need to stay in cognito in the Muggle world there, since the whole point is to lay low again. While we're gone, there will be a few more attacks, and hopefully by the time I return, more people than ever will be receptive to my leadership."

Bellatrix nodded and told him, "I have confidence that wizarding Britain is yours more and more every day, Master."

"You won't be able to call me that in Paris. Master. You can't behave like a slave in front of me; it'll raise all sorts of suspicions. We need to be invisible. If you can't act normally, then you'll have to stay here."

"Act normally," Bellatrix repeated, rubbing at one arm and shaking her head. "You mean, like a... like a..."

"A girlfriend." He cleared his throat uncomfortably and gave one firm nod. "Yes. You'll have to play the loving girlfriend."

Bellatrix's eyelashes fluttered a little, and she murmured, "I think I can do that."

He scoffed at her and said, "Yes, you probably can. I've a load of business to attend to before we leave. People to see individually. Go back to the flat and I'll meet you there."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix dipped into a little curtsy and started to go. She had her hand on the door when she turned round and told him intently, "You did exactly the right thing with Rodolphus, Master. That's my opinion."

He nodded. "See you at home."

* * *

Relais Christine, Paris

26 July 1970

"It's... small." Voldemort scowled a little as he stepped into the bedroom of the suite. It was bedecked with blue-and-white toile, with gauzy white curtains on a window that opened to overlook the courtyard below. A month in this small suite would be tight, even for people on as good of terms as Voldemort and Bellatrix were. It was far smaller than the flat in Kensington.

"I do not mean to argue, My Lord, but I think it's positively lovely." Bellatrix went over to the bank beneath the window, kneeling on the blue upholstery and gazing down at the fountain in the courtyard. Voldemort smiled just a little at the sight of her like that, her hair falling down from its bun in spirals that she pushed away from her eager eyes. She looked very young just now, but at the same time he felt more attracted to her than usual. Voldemort cleared his throat roughly and gestured to the wardrobe.

"It's no matter; I can easily Extend the wardrobe to fit all of our packed belongings, and then the suite won't feel so tight."

"That sounds fine, Master." Bellatrix touched at the thin white curtains and said gently, "They have good aesthetics when they want to. Muggles."

"They have to work harder for them," Voldemort pointed out, and Bellatrix nodded. He set to work on the wardrobe, casting a few Undetectable Extension Charms on it and then carefully unloading his and Bellatrix's Extended suitcases. He came to her large cosmetics box, which looked like a miniature trunk, and he said carefully, "Erm... would you... like this in the bathroom, or...?"

Bellatrix looked a little embarrassed and practically leaped from the window seat. She rushed up to Voldemort and said apologetically,

"I'll take it, My Lord. Sorry."

She dashed off before he could answer, disappearing into the all-white bathroom and placing the miniature trunk on the ground beside the sink. When she came back out, Voldemort stared at her for a long moment. He must have looked a bit funny, because she asked cautiously,

"Are you quite all right, Master?"

"I told you not to call me that here," he warned her. "We're in private right now, but if you keep the habit up, you'll slip in a restaurant or at a museum or something, and people will wind up calling the Muggle police on me."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she nodded. "I'm sorry, My... erm... I'm sorry."

Voldemort turned back to the task of loading up the wardrobe. "You needn't call me anything specific. If you want my attention, just yell 'oy' or something."

She practically cackled with amusement at that, and when he glared over his shoulder at her, she shook her head and said disbelievingly,

"Oy. I'm just going to stand in the middle of a Parisian street and look at my Lord and Master and scream, 'Oy' at him?"

Voldemort suppressed a laugh and shrugged. "Fine. That's stupid. Don't do that. Stay close enough that you don't have to yell at me. How about that?"

"All right." Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort shut the wardrobe doors and dusted his fingers along the toile bedding as he noted,

"The Muggle man downstairs said there's a concert tonight at the Sainte-Chapelle. Strings. Might be nice."

"I'm not sure what the Sainte-Chapelle is," Bellatrix admitted, "but a strings concert sounds very pleasant."

"Hungry?" Voldemort asked simply, and Bellatrix gave him a shy little smile.

"A little," she nodded. Then she hesitated and said, "I don't feel like I'm doing my job here. I feel like I'm on holiday."

"There's nothing wrong with having a little fun whilst hiding from the British Ministry," Voldemort assured her, as he'd assured himself six times already today. His soldiers were back home, defending his honour, and here he was gallivanting around Paris with his... whatever she was.

They enjoyed a quiet dinner in the place next door. Bellatrix was brave and ate a steak tartare, washing it down with a good dry Bordeaux. They had time to kill before the concert, so they even ate some Paris-Brest cream-filled puffs for dessert. Then, very unexpectedly, the great and fearsome Lord Voldemort found himself staring across the dinner table and feeling like he was going to burst.

"You're very pretty," he said quietly, and it was obvious his words had taken her back. They'd come out of nowhere, he knew, but he meant them just the same. He sipped at his wine as Bellatrix stammered some thanks, and then he said quietly enough that no one else could hear, "I saw regret in his mind. When I threw him against the wall."

"Rodolphus," Bellatrix nodded. "Regret that he'd spoken out of turn?"

"No." Voldemort shook his head. "Regret about ever letting you go. I won't be making the same mistake, you understand."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded, looking far more drunk that she was off of just one glass of wine. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, and she whispered softly, "I'm permanently yours. Whatever attention you give me in return is... a gift. But I will be yours; there's no helping that."

"We should go to the concert now," Voldemort said in too abrupt a tone, rising from his chair and setting French Muggle money down on the table. He barely waited for Bellatrix before walking out into the street. He needed air. She made him breathless, and that was one of the few things he disliked about her.

He could tell she was itching to take his hand on the way across the Pont Neuf, but he just walked alongside her. He'd already slipped so far into her grip; he couldn't go all the way. How was he meant to last a month without losing himself to her, he wondered? Hopefully they could go home sooner.

Home. To the flat they shared, the flat he had no intention of leaving in favour of solitary accommodations. He liked to sleep with her. He liked to eat her sinful pasta and the little tarts she baked. He liked to talk with her. He laughed in front of her, something he hardly ever did at all, much less in front of another person. But he laughed in front of her all the time.

So he reached for her hand as they finished crossing the Seine, and when he slid his fingers through hers, his gaze bored hard ahead. He led her up to the Sainte-Chapelle, and she stared up at the Gothic exterior as he paid the man at the door for two admittances to the concert that was about to begin.

There was a ritual to entering Muggle Catholic churches, but he didn't follow it. As a boy in Wool's Orphanage, he'd been made to attend Mass weekly until he was old enough to protest. So he knew all about dipping his fingers into the water and making a Cross on himself. He didn't do it, because he would bend the knee to no one, most especially a human form of a god who let himself get killed. Resurrected or not, there was far too much celebration of death in the Christian myth for Lord Voldemort's liking.

Bellatrix seemed entranced, as as he led her up the centre aisle, she whispered, "They worship here?"

"Some of them," Voldemort replied. "Fewer than used to. He's losing support with alarming speed."

"Who is?" Bellatrix breathed, and Voldemort smirked.

"Their god."

He and Bellatrix sat on the far end of the third row of seats, and she leaned over to whisper up at him,

"This building reminds me of Hogwarts. Very few of their buildings do."

"It's very old. Nearly as old as Hogwarts," Voldemort nodded. There was a buzz of conversation around him, and the strings were warming up, but he kept his voice low as he informed her, "During the French Revolution, when they cut off the Muggle king's head and installed chaos in his place, they destroyed this chapel. Or, at least, they tried. It was too stalwart for what they could throw at it then, and it survived enough to be restored."

"Could they destroy it now, if they wanted to?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort nodded gravely as he confirmed,

"I reckon they could destroy just about anything with the weapons they've got now. They like to do it, do. To ruin things."

Bellatrix frowned, but her apparent mood lightened when the concert of music by Bach started up. She seemed very happy as she listened to the ensemble, and the music sounded quite literally divine in the space. Voldemort found himself reaching to cover her hand with his on her knee, and when she glanced over to him, he didn't look away. She stared at him through the applause after a piece, and when they started up again, he reached into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency. For a moment, she fought him off, and he was glad that her instincts were beginning to compel her to resist him. But she quickly let him in, probably figuring that if her master wanted to see something, she should let him see it.

He searched through her recent memories, watching her stare into his eyes this morning when he'd been hovering above her, his hips cycling slowly. She loved him. She was madly in love with him, to the marrow of her bones. He pulled out of her mind quickly as that sentiment washed over him, for it felt far too familiar and made him terrified. He squared his jaw. He could never love anyone, not even Bellatrix. She was different, and separate from everyone else, but what she felt for him was not what he felt for her. He had to remember that, or else he'd be lost.

Bellatrix turned her face back to the concert, her cheeks going very red. Voldemort forced his eyes away from her, studying the column that was beside him. He looked around at the stained glass, the marble and the granite, the sculptures and paintings. In spite of this building's uselessness, he thought it was at least pleasing to the eye.

Soon enough the concert was over, and Voldemort found himself crossing back over the Pont Neuf with Bellatrix. He paused halfway, squeezing her hand and standing between two streetlights like he'd done that night in the rain outside the Savoy.

"Bellatrix," he said quietly, and she just nodded as she stared up at him. He tried to remind himself that he'd started giving her attention so she could serve his body, so that she could bring him carnal pleasure. She was his serf, just like the rest of them. He remembered throwing Rodolphus Lestrange against a wall for interrupting him. He remembered killing the Muggle in Leeds in cold blood. He thought of how sharply he'd spoken to Abraxas Malfoy, the way he'd slain five Mudbloods in one night just a year earlier. Then he looked down at Bellatrix's face, and he realised he was two people at once these days.

But she liked him cruel. She did not demand that he give up his aspirations, nor that he temper his viciousness. Indeed, she adored that part of him. She adored every little bit of him, his body and his mind and the Dark Lord he was. And he liked her very much for that.

It was more that he could say. He couldn't bring himself to any words beyond that thought. So he took Bellatrix's face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers, whispering her name again just before he planted a soft kiss upon her lips. Then he kissed her again, just because he wanted to. One of his hands went between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer, and the other tightened on her waist as he thought just how badly he wanted her body just now.

He wanted to kiss every scrap of her skin. He wanted to stand and watch her in the marble shower and watch her scrub her curls and flesh. He wanted to take his own turn and stare at her through the foggy glass. He wanted her to kneel before him again like she'd done before. This time he'd stroke her damp hair and whisper her name without shame. This time he'd kiss her thoroughly beforehand and touch her carefully afterward.

"Bella," he panted, ripping his mouth from hers. He seized her hand in his and said firmly, "Only a few blocks. Let's go."

* * *

Relais Christine, Paris

26 July 1970

"Go take a shower."

Bellatrix stared at Voldemort with wide eyes as they came into the suite. He flicked the light on, and she just nodded a little as she walked slowly toward the bathroom. She didn't think she was all that dirty, but if he wanted her clean, then she'd get clean. She turned with her back to him and asked,

"The zip... would you mind?"

His fingers pulled slowly down her back, and then his hands pushed her dress forward off her shoulders. It pooled around Bellatrix's feet, and he touched his lips to her neck as he murmured,

"I just want to watch you."

"Oh." Bellatrix shivered at that thought, but somehow she managed to Banish her knickers and bra and dress back to the wardrobe. She stepped through the bedroom and into the bright white bathroom, turning on the light and setting her wand on the ledge above the sink. She turned on the faucet and let the water get hot, and when she turned round, Voldemort was holding a little plastic bottle of shampoo and conditioner combination out to her. She nodded her gratitude and took it, stepping behind the glass half door into the marble shower space.

She felt nervous in a way she'd not felt since their first days together. She tried not to look at him as she wet her hair and squeezed cleanser into her palm. He wanted a show, she knew, so she tried to at least look vaguely sexy as she lathered the cleanser into her thick, rich curls. She let it soak in for a while and then rinsed it out, feeling the skin around her nipples pucker as they went hard in the colder air. Voldemort let out a little grunt from the other side of the glass, and when Bellatrix turned her gaze to him, she saw that he'd Banished his suit jacket and tie, that he stood in an open shirt with his suspenders down. She felt an insistent throbbing between her legs as he slowly unwrapped the paper from a bar of soap and then handed it to her.

"Thank you," Bellatrix said quietly, building up suds with the lavender-scented soap and scrubbing with a washcloth at her skin. Then she used her hands to rub bubbles everywhere - around her breasts, down her arms, over her hips. She made more of a show of washing herself like this, almost like it was a strip tease, and when she found Voldemort's gaze again, he frightened her. His eyes were usually cold and distant, but right now they were like black fire. He seemed desperate to say something, to have a conversation. Bellatrix wasn't sure how she knew that, but she did. So she smiled a little and said to him,

"You know, that steak tartare wasn't very good."

"No?" Voldemort's eyes studied her wet form, and she shook her head.

"No. I think I prefer my meat just a little more done than that."

She hadn't helped him. He looked just as starved as ever, his fingers reaching out and settling against the glass half door.

"You can order something different next time we go there," he informed her, his voice sounding odd. "Would you like to go there again?"

"I'd like to go anywhere with you, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him. He shut his eyes and whispered, so softly she could hardly hear him,

"Shut the water off."

She obeyed at once, and he reached for a fluffy white towel, which he held out for her. She took it and dabbed at her hair before wrapping it around her torso, stepping carefully out of the bath and staring up at Voldemort when he didn't move.

"You are dangerous, and I should kill you," he said seriously, and Bellatrix chewed her lip as she shrugged and said truthfully,

"That would be your prerogative, Master."

"But it isn't what I want," he barked. Bellatrix reached up for his face and softened her expression.

"Well, you can have whatever you want. So... what do you want?"

"You," he said simply. "All of you. All the time. All to myself."

She nodded and dragged her thumb beneath his eye. "That, after taking wizarding Britain as your own. Priorities. I know."

"You feel like a distractingly large priority at the moment, Bellatrix," Voldemort informed her. He sighed and told her, "I want you on your knees again. But first..."

He flicked his fingers just above her breast, and the towel fell from her body. He moved quickly then, using wandless magic to Summon her small cosmetics trunk in front of the sink. She heard him mutter a Strengthening Charm to ensure the flimsy case wouldn't break even under her tiny weight. He guided her up to stand on it, and she quickly realised why. Their height difference was too great for him to do what he wanted to do without some elevation.

He snaked his arms around her, watching both their reflections in the mirror as one of his hands cupped her breast and the other glided down her abdomen. She was going to need some Sleakeasy's After-Shower Cream, Bellatrix thought distantly. Her curls would be a bird's nest after this. But she ignored that thought when the pad of his middle finger started circling her clit, and when he dipped two fingers into her and started working with his thumb, she drove her head back. He was there to hold her steady, to latch his mouth onto her neck in the way that always drove her mad, and he moved his hands just so on her. In and out, in and out, and all the while his thumb pressed perfectly against her nub. His mouth suckled and pulled and bit at her neck, and Bellatrix knew she'd have more marks.

Her climax barreled toward her so suddenly that she'd passed the point of no return before she knew what was happening. She cried out and turned her head, desperate for him to kiss her properly. He did, and when she started clamping around his fingers, he groaned into her mouth. He dragged his fingers from her and wiped them on a hand towel as he pulled his lips away.

"Get... get on your knees," he commanded her, his low voice shaking like a leaf. Bellatrix was shaking, too, as she scrambled off the reinforced cosmetics trunk. Voldemort kicked it back beneath the sink, and as Bellatrix arranged her towel as a kneeling pad, he worked at his trousers and pulled his cock out. He shoved his trousers down a bit and stroked at his own length, and Bellatrix met his eyes as she sank down onto her knees.

She stared up at him as she wrapped her fingers around him, her tongue darting out to flick beneath his tip. He hissed and bucked forward a little at that. Bellatrix felt his fingers settle on her head, and she was surprised when he whispered,

"Siccaro... Capillalentis."

Her hair went dry and smoothed itself, and she smirked up at him as she stroked him with her hand.

"Didn't know you were a hairstylist, Master."

"You're not to call me that, even in private," he reminded her, "so that you behave normally in public."

"Normal, for you and I, is a little different, though, isn't it?" Bellatrix asked, knowing she was being cheeky. He didn't answer. He snared his fingers into her smoothed hair and tightened them against her scalp. That felt good, and Bellatrix's whole body tingled as she pushed his tip between her wet lips. She made swallowing motions with her entire mouth and throat, drawing him in more deeply with each breath.

This felt so different from the first time, when he'd held her head so it hurt, when he'd fucked her mouth roughly. Maybe she might like that again sometime, but tonight this was nice. Him standing there with his fingers in her hair, whispering her name, with her mouth doing all the work... this was nice. She used one hand to fondle his orbs with a careful, gentle touch, and her other hand massaged the sensitive interiors of his thighs. Meanwhile, she bobbed her mouth back and forth a few times and then repeated the swallowing motions. She did this process four or five times, until he made a pained little sound from above her, and she knew he was close.

When he came in her mouth, it was bitter and metallic, an angry tang and a harsh salty bite that nearly made her gag. She spluttered just a little bit, drinking it down like it was an elixir, staring up at him all the while. His face twisted and his teeth sank into his lips. His fingers rubbed at her scalp, and he whispered over and over, like a chant,

"Bella. Bella, Bella."

When his pleasure had passed and he started to go soft in her hand, Bellatrix carefully tucked him away, planting one last kiss over his manhood as she buttoned up his trousers.

An hour later, they'd both found their way into pyjamas and bed. Bellatrix curled up on her side facing him, and he stared straight up at the ceiling. He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together on his chest as he took a very deep breath. Bellatrix felt compelled to tell him,

"I'm sorry I made you angry."

"I'm not angry," he replied simply, and she swallowed hard as she amended,

"Frustrated, then. You said you wanted to kill me."

"No. That is not what I said." His voice got a little harsh as he shut his eyes and said through clenched teeth, "I have coped with a great many unexpected obstacles in my life, Bellatrix; I'm still not sure how to cope with this one."

"Well," she said, pushing herself up onto one elbow, "There are probably ways for you to make it so that I don't love you."

"That isn't what I want," he insisted, and before Bellatrix could ask him what he did want, he met her eyes and said, "You don't need to apologise for any of this. It happens, apparently."

It happens. Bellatrix felt her heart flutter, trying not to realise exactly what that meant. She met his eyes and stared straight into them, looking for an answer to the question she didn't dare ask. She felt him buzz into her mind, and she couldn't keep him from pulling out the burning idea from her head - did she love him? He pulled out of her mind and tucked her hair behind her ear, and he sighed deeply. He shrugged and gave her a sad, resigned sort of smile.

"Probably," he nodded. "I probably do. Don't ever make me say it."

"I could never make you do anything," Bellatrix insisted, and he scoffed quietly.

"That's a lie, and you know you it damned well," Voldemort sighed, sounding halfway between annoyed and amused. But he shut his eyes where he lay on his back, pulling Bellatrix down and up against him more firmly. He kissed Bellatrix's forehead and his breath started to slow, but her heart just picked up speed.

He loved her. Probably.

* * *

\- Text

Paris, France

9 August 1970

"Well. After a few weeks here, I like to consider myself something of an expert on Bordeaux wine," Bellatrix was saying playfully, "but that was some of the best, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Voldemort admitted. He smiled down at her, wondering how he'd let these last two weeks happen the way they had. Mornings in the hotel courtyard, afternoons in the Tuileries and at the Louvre. Browsing expensive Muggle stores and trying to mask their curiosity. Evenings in front of the Eiffel Tower, dinners at the finest small establishments Paris had to offer. Nights curled up together, whispering stories and making love. Waking up in the morning and repeating it all.

Tonight, they'd dined in a wood-paneled old restaurant off the rue de Rivoli, and now they were crossing the Seine, headed back to the Relais Christine, where their suite had proven to be just large enough. They crossed the Pont Neuf from the Right Bank to the Île de la Cité, and Voldemort paused when he saw an open bar just off the Pont Neuf. He sighed, not quite ready to go back to the hotel, and he suggested,

"How about a drink or three?"

Bellatrix laughed quietly and walked with him over to the bar. He put his hand on her back, knowing that she quite liked when he walked with her like that. He knew a lot now about what she liked and who she was.

He knew that, as a child, she'd dreamed of putting the potions supply shop in Diagon Alley out of business or opening a new one in Knockturn Alley. She liked that her hair was unusual, but the curls were almost more trouble than they were worth, in her view. If she could only ever eat one thing again, it would be spaghetti noodles with pesto sauce. Her mother had once locked her in her room for three days because she'd shoved Andromeda down a few stairs and sprained the younger girl's ankle. She wanted a pet snake, but her father had insisted on a cat that had died during Bellatrix's fifth year at school. And, anyway, snakes weren't on the approved list of Hogwarts familiars.

She knew that if he could go stay on a desolate mountaintop for a while, he would, just for the peace and quiet. But then he'd come back and burn a city to the ground, because that would be relaxing, too. He had managed to get himself run out of Romania in the 1950s by a wizarding populace that became scared and distrustful of him. If he had to be either blind or deaf, he'd lose his hearing, because he'd still get into people's minds and aim spells accurately. He'd rather be remembered and hated than forgotten entirely. His favourite ice cream flavour was salted caramel.

They knew one another just about as well as they could, given who they were. She knew what his body liked, and he thought he knew the same for her. Climaxes felt better now than ever before in his life. The pleasure was so much stronger than when it was his own hand doing the work, or when he was just rutting a body about whom he cared very little. With her, it was deep. It felt like a drug going through his veins whenever he came inside of her. Physically, she was bliss. Emotionally, she was relief. And he liked her, every part of who she was, even though he usually disliked human beings.

He sighed as he led her to the bar and pulled out a stool for her. They studied the drinks menu, and Bellatrix threw her eyebrows up as she pointed to one word,

"Absinthe."

"The closest thing they've got to magic," Voldemort smirked. The Muggle bartender stepped up, and Voldemort said simply, "Je voudrais deux portions d'absinthe verte."

"Oui, Monsieur," the barkeep said. Voldemort and Bellatrix watched as a glass was put before each of them. A few fingers' worth of celery-green absinthe were poured into the glasses. The barkeep then put an elaborate silver absinthe spoon atop each glass, along with a sugar cube. He brought up a pitcher of water and poured it very slowly over each sugar cube, and the clear green absinthe clouded up. The bartender then used the spoons to break up and stir the sugar, and he nodded as he took the spoons away and Voldemort slid a bill across the bar to him.

"Bottoms up. Well, no. I think you're meant to drink it quite slowly." Bellatrix grinned as she brought her glass to her lips. She pulled a face at the bitter-mixed-with-sweet, and he could tell she was trying not to cough. Voldemort sipped at his own Green Fairy, and he glanced around to ensure no one was listening.

"Muggles lose their minds over drinks like this," he informed her. "Can you imagine if they had Elixir to Induce Euphoria? Vision Maker? Felix Felicis? Their drinks, their drugs are such poor imitations of what we teach twelve-year-olds to brew in classrooms."

Bellatrix laughed a little, sipped more of her absinthe, and murmured, "Perhaps we're a bit too loose with what we teach twelve-year-olds to brew."

He shrugged and nodded, and they drank the rest of their absinthe in a contented, long silence. Somewhere nearby, a solitary violin was playing. Probably someone busking in the tourist-heavy area, Voldemort pondered. Still, it was pretty. As he gazed down at Notre-Dame and at the Eiffel Tower beyond, he swallowed hard and thought perhaps he would be happy alone with Bellatrix somewhere. But there was a movement waiting for its leader at home.

"Well," he heard Bellatrix say at last, "Can't say as I'm hallucinating or feel compelled to write the next great work of literary genius, but I did enjoy the drink."

He set his own empty glass down, putting down a few coins as a tip, and he threaded his fingers through hers as he led her out of the open-sided bar. The liquor had been just enough, in combination with the two glasses of wine he'd had at dinner, to make his head a little woozy. It wasn't too bad, but it compelled him to stop halfway across the Pont Neuf and stare down at Bellatrix.

"Are you all right?" She looked and sounded a little more tipsy than he was, but he knew that if he didn't do this right now, he never would. He squeezed her hand more tightly, his heart starting to pound as he begged himself not to say it, not to cross a line permanently. But his lips moved of their own accord, and his shaking voice spoke the truth he could no longer deny himself or her.

"I love you, Bellatrix."

Her mouth fell open, and he shut his eyes as he cursed himself for actually saying it. He could try and pretend, tonight and tomorrow and every day in perpetuity, that the alcohol had made him blurt out such a thing. That would have been a lie. He'd known without hesitation for a week now that he loved her. He'd never felt love, but this was so categorically different from anything else that he was very sure. Now he'd said it. He opened his eyes and saw Bellatrix dragging a tear out of her eye before it could fall down her cheek. She just nodded, always knowing how to respond to him as she whispered,

"What a fine night it's been. Shall we go back to the hotel?"

"Yes." Voldemort pulled his thumb over hers, and they started to walk across the bridge again. But then suddenly a large bird flew overhead, and somehow Bellatrix had the presence of mind to catch the envelope that fell from its talons. Voldemort watched as the dark barn owl flew off into the night. He glanced around frantically, but the few scattered Muggles nearby hadn't paid the incident any mind.

"Smart bird," Bellatrix murmured, handing Voldemort the envelope. "It's from Abraxas Malfoy."

Voldemort's stomach sank and then twisted. He stood under the light of a street lamp and cracked open the wax seal bearing the Malfoy family crest. He pulled out the parchment inside, unfolding it and letting Bellatrix huddle up beside him as they both read.

My Lord,

I apologise for sending an owl to track you down, but I wanted to explain the current situation in full before going so far as to Call you through my Mark.

Mulciber has been arrested and is scheduled to stand trial before the Wizengamot in four days' time. Though they have no real proof against him regarding his attack on the Mudblood Raymond Thurgood and his Squib relatives, they are trying him for the crime just the same.

If I may be so bold as to suggest it, My Lord, I think that your presence in Britain at this time would be highly valued. Whether or not any of us are able to keep Mulciber out of Azkaban, there is a growing sense of fear and unease among the Death Eaters that following your orders may lead them straight to a Dementor's Kiss. I confess that I do not fully trust all of them to act according to your wishes in spite of any potential fallout.

Please do know that there is always lodging, as well as your office, fully available to you at the Manor, as well as meeting spaces. The wards around the Manor have been greatly strengthened, and I now consider it virtually impenetrable to Ministry forces.

I know that you will act as you see fit, and that your decision will be the best and only one to be made. I remain in eternity your faithful servant.

\- Abraxas Malfoy

Voldemort folded the letter up and lowered it to his side, surreptitiously Vanishing it with wandless magic. He turned his face to Bellatrix, studying her features for a moment before casting his eyes up to the nightscape of the city where he'd confessed his love for her.

"Say goodbye to Paris, Bella," he said, his voice cold and stony. "We need to go home. Immediately."

* * *

Malfoy Manor

10 August 1970

Bellatrix walked into the dining-room at Malfoy Manor and was greeted with confused silence. She'd come earlier than Voldemort, so that they didn't walk in together, but she knew that her absence over the past few weeks would not have gone unnoticed. She walked over to the chair beside Abraxas Malfoy and sat, giving the elder wizard a tiny smile as she asked,

"How are Lucius and Narcissa?"

"Erm... getting ready to return to Hogwarts, I think," Abraxas Malfoy said, and Bellatrix cleared her throat. It was obvious no one in here wanted to talk to her. They were either afraid to do so or too befuddled by what she was to the Dark Lord now. Bellatrix flicked her eyes across the table to where Rodolphus Lestrange sat, and he gave her a very odd look.

"He's here," someone hissed, and Bellatrix flew to her feet with everyone else as Voldemort came striding quickly into the room. She kept her face down, but couldn't help raising her eyes to study him. He was in billowing, wispy dark robes; she'd only seen him in Muggle attire the last few weeks. It was good to see him looking properly Magical again.

Suddenly she was taken back to the night before, to the bridge in Paris where he'd told her that he loved her. He didn't look like that man now. His eyes were like icy coal, and his lips had been planted into an angry scowl. He'd side-parted his hair and slicked it over in a severe style. He stood with his hands on the back of the chair at the head of the table and sat sternly,

"Sit."

They did, Bellatrix among them. She felt Voldemort enter her mind, but she made no effort to resist him, instead focusing on pulling her heavy chair closer to the table. She was so short that her legs didn't quite reach the ground, but she avoided the urge to swing her feet. Voldemort smirked minutely and slithered into his own seat, folding his hands on the table and taking a moment to glare at every single person in the room. Bellatrix was last, and his hard gaze lingered on her a half second longer than it had on the others. He huffed a sigh and said quietly to the group,

"We are short one today. I hear Mulciber has been arrested. A pity. A shame. And, yet, that is the price one risks paying in the service of our cause. Is there anyone here who would not pay such a price?"

Of course, no one's hand or voice went up. Voldemort nodded and said crisply,

"Now. I could take this whole room of soldiers and storm Azkaban, but I'd undoubtedly lose some of you to the Dementors, since they have not yet allied with us. I could go bursting into the Ministry to demand his release, but they wouldn't release him. We could charge into his Wizengamot trial, but some of you would die. Our forces have not yet expanded to the point of recovering one arrested wizard."

Everyone squirmed a little, and Bellatrix knew why. Some had been afraid that they'd be called into a suicide mission to save Mulciber. Others were contemplating the idea that they would be sacrificed if they got caught. Voldemort cleared his throat and said,

"Rookwood and Yaxley have informed me that Mulciber only revealed a few names and places under Veritaserum interrogation. He didn't tell them anything they didn't already know. He did confess, so he will be found guilty at the start of his trial and likely sentenced to life in Azkaban. Bellatrix."

She jolted at the sound of her name, swallowing hard as she met his eyes. Voldemort tipped his head and said,

"Mulciber's twin daughters. You were in school with them?"

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix nodded. "His son is, I believe, a sixth-year now, but his girls Ederra and Nora were my roommates in Slytherin."

"Be a friend to them now, even though I know you weren't during your school days," Voldemort commanded. "It is critical that Mulciber's wife and children know he has our undying support even whilst he is in prison. Malfoy, see to it that Mulciber's family receives a living stipend during his imprisonment. Augustus Rookwood, get a message to Mulciber himself that we will break him out of Azkaban as soon as such a thing is possible."

Those called out by name nodded their assent, and Voldemort gazed around the table. He was searching minds, Bellatrix knew, and after a moment, he said in a dangerous voice,

"Now is not the time to doubt me or to doubt yourselves. We are the right, the justice for wizarding Britain. Let there be no mistaking where everyone stands."

He pulled back his left sleeve and touched his wand to his Dark Mark, and a hiss went around the table as everyone's Mark seared painfully. Bellatrix shut her eyes against the burn and listened as Voldemort said,

"You all stand with me. You have sworn that, and I shall hold you to it. Doubt will be punished. Loyalty will be rewarded. Dismissed."

Bellatrix pushed her chair back and rose, making a move toward the room's doors. As she walked past Voldemort's chair, he reached out and snatched her wrist, and she gasped as she whirled round to face him. His eyes glittered as he commanded her,

"Stay."

"Yes, Master."

He didn't release her wrist, even when the stragglers glanced back furtively to where she stood beside him. He tightened his grip until it hurt, and Bellatrix struggled to stay silent. Once everyone had gone, Voldemort flicked his wand at the doors to lock them, and he turned his face to Bellatrix.

"I need you to do your job today, Miss Black."

She knew what he meant. He needed her to play the submissive sexual servant just now. She nodded and whispered,

"How may I please you, My Lord? Please, tell me how to give you pleasure."

"I need to be a bit brutal with you today," he warned her. He stood, still holding her wrist, and he seized her shoulders in his arms. Bellatrix gasped when he slammed her roughly down onto the chunky table where the meeting had just happened. She lay on her back, a shock of pain from the slam going up her back. His face hardened, and she was suddenly very afraid.

Perhaps he would regret having told her that he loved her. Perhaps he would torture her or kill her to eliminate her troublesome presence in his life, just like he'd suggested in Paris. Bellatrix felt less sure than ever of what was going to happen when he pinned her arms above her head and aimed his wand at her wrists.

"Incarcerous," he incanted, and Bellatrix felt a thin rope bind her wrists together. She gasped when he rolled her over onto her stomach, her wrists still tied up, and yanked her skirt up above her hips. Then, very suddenly, Bellatrix felt something being threaded around the front of her mouth, and when she saw his hand pass beneath her jaw, she realised he'd yanked off the tie around the shirt he wore beneath his robes. He was using the black tie to gag her, and for some reason that thought made her go sopping wet between her legs. Her hands tingled from how tightly he'd tied her wrists together, and all Bellatrix could do was to put her head sideways on the wooden table and shut her eyes.

She felt him wrench her knickers down, just enough for them to be around her knees, and then, without warning, there came a mighty crack! Bellatrix gasped and moaned a little, her voice muffled by the silk of his tie. She clenched her fingers together above her head, squirming as he spanked her again. Right, left, right, left. He was methodical and steady, but over time Bellatrix knew her moans and cries were so loud that anyone in the corridor would hear her. Voldemort knew that, she realised. People were probably listening, and he probably liked it. He probably liked the idea that Bellatrix's desperate whines were audible to his other servants. She moaned more loudly when it registered in her mind that this was not private.

Slap. Slap. Slap. It was like a drumbeat against her backside, but it burned and seared and then started to go numb. Then the spanking stopped, and Bellatrix heard a grunt and a low sigh from behind her. She heard a zip going down, and then he whispered,

"Are you wet for me like always, Bella? Let's find out." Bellatrix screamed against the tie when she felt the invasion of Voldemort's cock, for he immediately seized her waist and started pounding her mercilessly. The cheeks of her backside still burned terribly from the spanking she'd received, and she was helpless against the way drool dribbled onto the table from her gagged mouth. Her arms and hands were numb above her head, and she was being thrust roughly into the table with every push of Voldemort's cock. He pushed her hips down hard against the table, which just made it so he was grinding her perfectly with each pistoning motion. Within a few moments, Bellatrix knew she was going to come, and she let her cries keen out into the room when she did. Someone was listening, she knew. Voldemort knew that. He wanted it. So she moaned again.

"Bella," he whispered, his palms rubbing her backside carefully as he twitched and jerked inside of her. He was being quiet with his own climax, and Bellatrix knew why. It was all well and good for his Death Eaters to hear him plundering their fellow servant. It wouldn't do for them to hear the human sounds their master could make. His hands were soothing, though, on her hot and sore backside, and he bent down as he pulled out of her body.

"Good girl," he whispered into her ear, stroking her hair carefully as he reached with his wand to release the bindings around her wrists. He unfastened the tie and pulled it away, and she felt her knickers being pulled back up and her skirt pulled back down. He helped her off the table, for she was shaking and more than a little unsteady. She faced him, and his eyes had softened quite a lot since he'd started with her. He tucked her hair behind her ears and touched at her searing hot cheekbones, and he put his lips beside her ear as he murmured, "Now go out there and show them you've been claimed by the Dark Lord."

That made her wet again, but Bellatrix just nodded. She turned and started to walk away, but Voldemort pulled her back by her elbow and crushed her mouth with his. The kiss was brief but deep, and as he pulled away, he whispered,

"I do love you, you know. It wasn't the liquor talking."

She just smiled a little, feeling her eyes sear. He knew that she loved him more than her own life; he didn't need a maudlin exchange between them today. So she just nodded and turned to go, unlocking the door to the corridor and clearing her throat as she made her way outside.

Avery, Nott, Yaxley, and the Lestrange brothers were standing in a cluster a little ways down the corridor, pretending they hadn't heard anything from the dining-room. Bellatrix walked toward them, nodding and clearing her throat as she told them,

"Good day, gentlemen."

"Miss Black," Avery acknowledged. Rodolphus Lestrange looked like someone had punched him in the gut. That made Bellatrix walk a little more confidently, even though she was sore and worn out. There were tear streaks down her red cheeks, and probably marks from where he'd used his tie to gag her. Her hair would be a mess, she knew. And they'd all heard her. That was written on their faces.

But as Bellatrix passed Lord Voldemort's office, remembering the day she'd asked to serve him and all the days since, she felt proud. And she loved him ferociously, a truth that was all the more delicious when she realised that he actually loved her back.


	6. Chapter 6

27 Rosary Gardens

21 September 1970

Voldemort blinked his eyes open into the grey morning and felt his lips curl up a little. He felt the warmth of Bellatrix curled beside him and knew that he was the first one awake. Good.

"Somnolus," he murmured, petting her head and touching his lips to her forehead. He had plans for her today, and he needed her asleep until everything was ready. She breathed more slowly than ever, put into a deeper, enchanted sleep. Voldemort pulled himself slowly from the bed and moved quietly as he dressed into a simple black shirt and matching trousers.

It was her birthday today. She was nineteen years old. That made him feel very old, for he was on the latter edge of forty-three himself. But he liked that she was so young. Her body was youthful, and so was her mind, and all of that helped him feel less creaky and cantankerous than he'd been feeling before she came along.

For the last six weeks, he'd been falling harder for her by the day. They'd had one argument, during which he'd accused her of getting too close and comfortable and she'd shot back that he'd more than set her up to do so. But she'd come crawling back, apologising frantically for disrespecting him, and Voldemort had conceded that there was nothing to be done about her getting close. So the fight had passed just as quickly as it had come, like a brief summer thunderstorm.

There had been more attacks on Muggles, and Mulciber had been thrown into Azkaban. Bellatrix had dutifully spent time with Mulciber's daughters, shopping quietly in Knockturn Alley and going to their house for quiet teas whilst they mourned their father. Voldemort had worked with Malfoy, Yaxley, and Rookwood to oversee more thorough infiltration of the Ministry. And every evening, there was dinner at home or in a Muggle restaurant. There was laughter, shared stories, jokes, commentary on the newspaper. There was happiness in Rosary Gardens, even as the rest of their lives felt more tense by the day.

The rest of the Death Eaters had figured out that Bellatrix was the lover of Lord Voldemort. Their romp in the dining room at Malfoy Manor had shown it for the first time, and Voldemort had made no effort in subsequent interactions to hide that fact. But she was still his servant, so she could never be his wife. Still, he wanted her to be something. Something more than the rest of them were. The word 'girlfriend' felt so paltry and juvenile and insufficient. But she could never be his wife.

So, a week earlier, Voldemort had gone to a Muggle jeweler and purchased a piece that he now examined in its box. He had one shot to make this good, he knew. He couldn't just hand her jewelry and wish her a happy birthday. That wasn't good enough.

He aimed his wand at her and silently Scoured her mouth and face so that she could kiss him upon waking without feeling self-conscious. She'd wake up tasting mint in her mouth, feeling clean and refreshed. He stepped up alongside the bed and carefully genuflected, opening the black velvet box and pulling out the ring inside.

It was a thin platinum band lined with little round diamonds, which encircled a round emerald atop the ring. The design was simple, but the message was not. Voldemort carefully picked up Bellatrix's right hand and pushed the ring onto the fourth finger of her right hand. Then he brushed his wand up her forearm and whispered,

"Expergo."

Bellatrix stirred, looking over to the spot where Voldemort usually slept and frowning a little when she realised he was already dressed. She gave him a little smile as he used his thumb to rub circles on her palm and say firmly,

"Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

"You remembered," she breathed, for they hadn't discussed it. That had been on purpose; he'd wanted to see if she'd bring it up (she never did), and he wanted her to know that he'd kept her birthday in mind without constant reminders. He nodded and glanced down to her hand, and she gasped when she saw the ring there. She sat straight up, her hair frizzy in its thick braid as she studied her hand.

"Merlin's beard," she gasped. "It's... it's... beyond lovely. It's marvelous."

"I know you've plans with your family during the day today," Voldemort conceded, "but I wanted to be the first to give you a proper gift."

"My Lord." Bellatrix hugged her hand to her chest and made a little squealing sound, grinning with delight. Voldemort couldn't help but smile a little at that; her joy was contagious. He stood on knees that reminded him of his own age, and he held his hand out to urge Bellatrix off the bed. She scrambled to stand before him, looking more than a little sexy in her short black nightgown. He cupped her backside in one hand and her jaw in the other, and he kissed her lips firmly before he said again,

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Bella," he said, and he waited until her eyes met his before he said the words he reserved for rare occasions. "I love you, Bellatrix."

"And I love you, Master," she affirmed, reaching up for his scruffy cheeks and flicking her eyes to her right hand with a smile. She found his gaze again and told him, "I've always been a discontented little creature. That's what my mother's always told me. That I've been disagreeable and unhappy since the day I was born. But, My Lord, being a small part of your magnificent life makes me happier than I could have ever imagined."

"You're not a small part of my life," he protested, almost offended. "You are... Bella, you're..." He couldn't find the right words, so finally he just blurted, "You are extremely important to me and I care quite deeply for you."

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, as though his words had injected life into her veins. She nodded and told him,

"I ought to get dressed, My Lord... I'm meant to have brunch with my parents."

"I know. I'm coming with you," Voldemort said firmly. Bellatrix's mouth fell open, but he informed her, "Your father's joined our cause, not as a Death Eater, but working financials for me at Gringotts. Your mother is just as committed to blood purity as anyone else. They're both on the verge of disowning your own sister. You think your parents would object to hosting the Dark Lord himself on their daughter's birthday?"

"No, Master," Bellatrix said, shaking her head. "No, I don't think they'd object."

"Good. Get dressed." Voldemort stepped back, watching her like a hawk as she carried out the tasks that were normally private. Cleaning her teeth, putting on makeup, smoothing her curls, getting dressed. He watched her do it all because she was his, and he liked to remind both of them of that fact whenever things felt too cosy. It helped avoid arguments like the one they'd had a few weeks earlier if everyone knew their places.

Once she was ready, they Apparated to her parents' townhouse, and Bellatrix cleared her throat on the doorstep. She turned to him and informed him,

"I normally wouldn't knock or ring, but I don't want to surprise them today."

"Fair enough," Voldemort nodded. He reached up and cracked the heavy brass knocker against the door a few times. The door swung open a moment later, and sour-faced Druella Black stood in the doorway, muttering something about a 'useless elf.'

"Oh, my goodness. Erm... good morning, My Lord!" Druella seemed utterly shocked by the presence of Lord Voldemort on her doorstep. She and Cygnus Black III knew their daughter was the paramour of the Dark Lord because everyone knew it. But he'd never been in their presence with Bellatrix before. He gave Druella a little nod and said crisply,

"I trust you can squeeze one more round your dining table, Madam Black."

"Of course! Cygnus! Cygnus! Hello, Bellatrix. Happy birthday. Do come in, My Lord." Druella moved quickly then, barking orders at the House-Elf to add another place setting and to get tea brewed up at once. She turned to Voldemort and asked nervously, "Tea or coffee, My Lord? Which would you prefer?"

"Either is fine," Voldemort said, though he disliked coffee. Druella snapped at the elf to prepare both, and then Cygnus Black III came ambling down the stairs, his deep voice jovial as he said,

"Well, Bella, it's been awhile since we've seen you! Happy birthday, darling! I've been... oh. Oh, Merlin's beard. Oh. Hello, My Lord."

Cygnus stepped into the foyer and dipped his head reverently, looking red-faced as he realised just who was standing in his home. Voldemort puffed himself up a little and said arrogantly,

"I've come to celebrate Bellatrix's birthday."

Cygnus grinned like a madman. "My goodness! What a treat. What an absolute delight. Druella, have another place setting -"

"I already did, dearest," Druella said in an artificially light tone, leading them into the dining-room. "Right this way, My Lord. Bellatrix, I simply can't believe you're already nineteen. Our grown-up witch."

"Mother," Bellatrix snarled roughly, huffing as she walked up to a chair. Voldemort pulled it out smoothly for her, and her facial expression instantly shifted. She smiled up at him a little, and Voldemort smirked down at her for a long moment before taking a spot at the head of the table. Cygnus was about to sit at the opposite end, but thought better of it and sat beside Druella instead. Soon the House-Elf snapped loudly from another room, and plates full of eggs and rashers and potato appeared before them. Orange juice and water appeared in the glasses, and Voldemort cleared his throat as he said quietly,

"To the witch we all adore so dearly, a most happy birthday."

Bellatrix's fingers shook around her glass of orange juice, and her parents both looked shocked at the way the fearsome Lord Voldemort had just spoken to and about their daughter. Bellatrix mumbled her thanks and took a sip of juice, and Voldemort turned his attention to Cygnus and Druella.

"How's the banking, Cygnus?"

"Oh! Erm... accounts for the movement are being held in private names, of course, My Lord. Investments are gaining well, and donations are coming in steadily. The vaults being held for you contain untold riches, and -"

"Untold," Voldemort repeated, throwing up an eyebrow. "I should certainly hope you're keeping better track of things than that."

Cygnus' plump cheeks went scarlet. "Pardon the expression, Master. I was unclear. There are nine hundred and twelve thousand Galleons that belong to you now, along with many artefacts that haven't got a specific price value."

"Hmm. That's all very promising." Voldemort sipped his juice and cut into his eggs, watching the yolk dribble over the potato as he listened to Druella carefully ask her daughter,

"May I go fetch your present, Bellatrix?"

It was interesting, the way her parents sounded afraid of her now. That was because of her close association with him, with Lord Voldemort. He was amused by that, and when Druella came back into the room holding a large box tied with a ribbon, he folded his hands and stared coldly.

Bellatrix untied the ribbon and pulled a heavy black velvet cloak out of the box. She already had one a lot like it, Voldemort noted. He'd seen it in the wardrobe. Bellatrix smiled a little and insisted,

"It's very nice, Mum. Dad. Thanks very much."

Druella looked quite pleased with herself as she said, "The weather's getting cold; we figured you'd want something different for your first winter outside of Hogwarts."

"Yes. It's lovely," Bellatrix said, sounding uncomfortable. "Thanks again."

The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence, punctuated by the occasional short conversation of two or three exchanges. After awhile, Voldemort saw Druella's eyes go to Bellatrix's right hand, and she asked,

"Wherever did you get that lovely trinket, Bellatrix? I've never seen it before."

"It... erm... it was a gift," Bellatrix said, and Druella's eyes flew from Bellatrix to Voldemort and back. She gasped and breathed,

"Is that an engagement ring?"

"What?" Bellatrix shrieked, dropping her fork. Her face went red and she shook her head vehemently. "Are you daft, Mother? It's not even on the correct hand. For Merlin's sake..."

She gave Voldemort a very apologetic look, and though he kept his chin tipped up, he realised it had been a mistake to come here, to her parents' house. After all, his relationship with Bellatrix had been meant to stay purely physical. That hadn't happened; he'd grown entirely too close to her on the emotional plane already. But coming here, to her childhood home, on her birthday, had been a grave error. He rose slowly from his chair, and the other three in the room did the same.

"I have a meeting to attend, I'm afraid," Voldemort lied, "but I couldn't let Bellatrix spend the entirety of her birthday alone."

Cygnus looked very vaguely offended, for of course Bellatrix wouldn't have been alone with her parents. But then realisation seemed to come over Druella and Cygnus' faces. Their daughter was not just an adult who was no longer in their charge. She was his. She was the Dark Lord's. Their daughter belonged to someone else. Druella lowered her face, and Cygnus nodded as he said,

"Thank you for gracing our home with your presence, My Lord. What an honour it was to see you. I promise you, we'll keep Bellatrix entertained for the remainder of her birthday."

"See that you do," Voldemort nodded. He walked around the table and took Bellatrix's face in his hands, feeling her cheeks go hot beneath his palms. Her eyes pleaded with him not to do what he was thinking of doing, but he ignored her wordless entreaty. He bent and kissed her hard, grunting softly against her mouth and claiming her right there in front of her parents. He brushed her cheekbone with his thumb and murmured,

"Happy birthday, Bella."

Then, without another word, he stalked away and Disapparated mid-step, leaving Bellatrix scowling and blushing beside her horrified parents.

* * *

Black Family Residence, London

21 September 1970

"Sorry."

Bellatrix mumbled the word and then took the last three bites of food off of her plate. Her parents stared at one another for a long moment, and then Druella noted dryly,

"He's possessive of you."

"He's possessive of everything he has," Bellatrix said tightly. She didn't want to discuss him like this, but he hadn't left her much choice. Cygnus cleared his throat and demanded,

"Are you safe, Bellatrix?"

"The world isn't safe," Bellatrix said simply. She swigged down the last of her orange juice, and her glasses and plate disappeared. She pinched her lips tightly and told her parents, "I should go to him. He's angry."

"Angry about what?" Druella demanded, and Bellatrix snapped,

"Oh, I don't know, Mother. Perhaps over the fact that you asked if my birthday gift from him was a damned engagement ring!"

"It was a fair question," Druella insisted, setting down her fork, "seeing as how you've apparently been his -"

"It was not a fair question," Bellatrix yelled, flying to her feet, "because he is the Dark Lord, not some ordinary wizard courting someone for marriage. You could never, ever understand what he and I -"

"Are you his slave, Bellatrix?" Cygnus asked quietly. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, and she hissed,

"We're all his slaves, including you, Daddy."

"You know what sort of slave I mean." Cygnus sighed and folded his hands, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"And if I was? What sort of recourse would you have? Worth getting yourself killed over, is it? You don't ever anger him. None of us do, or we pay the price. He is all-powerful. He is -"

"He is taking advantage of you," Druella frowned, and Bellatrix shrugged and laughed bitterly. She snatched the box from the chair beside her and said,

"I'm so sorry neither of you understand. Sorry you asked such a ridiculous question in his presence. Sorry you don't like my life. It's fine. You've never liked much of anything about me. Thanks for the cloak and the eggs. See you."

She stormed out of the dining-room, and her mother came pattering after her.

"Wait! Bellatrix."

She turned round, and Druella put her hands on her eldest daughter's shoulders. Her eyes glimmered with tears as she said,

"I'm about to lose Andromeda. I can't lose you, too. Apologise to him for my stupid question, please."

"Fine. Goodbye, Mother." Bellatrix took a step back and Disapparated, and as she vanished into the inky black ether, she heard her mother say quickly,

"Happy birthday."

Bellatrix came to in the corridor of the flat in Rosary Gardens, and she looked around quickly but didn't find Lord Voldemort. She finally sank into a chair in the sitting-room and tossed aside the box with her parents' gift. It started to rain outside, so she opened the window to listen to the rainfall, and she stared at the emerald ring on her finger. She sat there for so long that she almost nodded off from boredom.

She fetched a book from the shelves and read for a few hours, a boring tome about animal-to-animal Transfiguration. After awhile, she made herself some soup and bread for lunch and ate it in solitude. She paced in the flat for another hour, listening to the rain outside, until finally she went into the bedroom and changed into more formal clothes. It was dress-up, really, because she was bored. She put on a strapless black column gown with a silver belt around the waist, and she walked into the bathroom and started piling on cosmetics. She lined her eyes with heavy wings, using pale pink lipstick, and spritzed on vanilla perfume. She carefully arranged her hair in braids that she criss-crossed across her head, and she pulled a few curls loose. She looked at her emerald ring again and sighed, wishing today had gone differently. She paced again, and then she whirled round, for there was a quiet pop behind her.

"Hello," Bellatrix whispered, meeting Voldemort halfway down the corridor. She wanted to be angry at him. If he'd been a lesser man, she probably would have slapped him and screamed at him for kissing her like that in front of her parents and then abandoning her for nearly his entire birthday. But he had a bouquet of white lilies in his hand, which he handed over silently, and she knew he'd Conjured them just for her. Her heart raced a little when he asked,

"How did you know I wanted to take you to the Savoy for dinner and dancing?"

"Shouldn't we discuss this morning?" Bellatrix asked, but he shook his head firmly.

"No. We should not."

"All right," Bellatrix said quietly. She looked at the lilies and said, "Let me get these in some water."

His wand moved easily as he Conjured a cut-glass vase and filled it with water. He took the lilies from her, put them in the vase, and cast a Preserving charm upon them. Then he set them down on the kitchen counter and told her,

"I need five minutes to get dressed. Come."

She followed him into the bedroom, and as he started changing into his tuxedo, he told her,

"It was foolish of me to go to your parents' house. It was foolish of me to put a ring on your finger - any finger - and not expect people to think what your mother thought. For that, I apologise."

Bellatrix's lip shook a little as she told him something she'd said before to him. "You'll never have anything to be sorry for."

"Hmm." He started adjusting his bow tie round his neck, sniffing lightly as he said,

"It was not my intention to ruin your birthday."

"It's not ruined, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted. She twisted her hands in front of her and said, "They can't understand. They could never understand that I'm not just your slave, but that marriage is... you know, out of the question."

Voldemort blinked a few times in the mirror as he studied his reflection. His voice was quiet as he murmured, "It is an odd thing to try and understand."

He stared at her in the mirror for a long moment, and then he turned round and took her hands in his.

"I want to dance with you. Let's go."

Dinner was delicious - mussels, spinach salad, pork chops, and lavender custard. They had more wine than they normally would have done, plus after-dinner gin and tonics for the both of them. By the time Voldemort led her out to the dance floor, Bellatrix was just tipsy enough to giggle and tell him,

"You thought you'd ruined my birthday by angering my parents. Don't you know, Master, that angering my parents has been my very favourite hobby since I could talk?"

"You probably angered them before that, too," Voldemort teased, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her into a close stance. She smiled up at him and nodded.

"I almost certainly did. I'm sorry, My Lord."

"What on Earth have you to be sorry for, Bella?" Voldemort demanded, drawing her into a smooth two-step. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she glanced at the ring on her right finger, and she whispered,

"Sorry for what my mother asked."

"I can't marry you," he said simply, and she nodded.

"I know."

"I would never marry anybody," he said firmly, and Bellatrix nodded again.

"I know."

They danced three songs without talking, thought Bellatrix knew Voldemort was thinking hard. His throat bobbed as he informed her,

"What we have right now is awfully close to marriage, anyway. We wake in the same bed, clean our teeth in the same sink. We spend good chunks of our days together and then make love and fall asleep tangled up together. That has to be enough."

"It is more than enough, Master," Bellatrix whispered, but Voldemort shut his eyes for a moment as they danced. His hands tightened on her, and he mumbled,

"Some day it might not be enough."

"It'll always be enough," Bellatrix assured him. He shrugged and looked a little mournful as he said,

"Speak for yourself."

He bent to kiss her then, his lips warm and soft against hers, and he murmured,

"Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

Back in Rosary Gardens, he stripped off his tuxedo slowly and helped Bellatrix out of her column dress. She Banished it to the wardrobe, standing naked before him with her makeup and hair still done. That seemed to make him hungry, and he gnawed on his bottom lip as he whispered,

"It isn't enough."

Bellatrix sighed. "My Lord. Please. You needn't let my mother put such silly ideas -"

"Do you honestly think your mother's question was the first time I'd contemplated the idea of marrying you?" He squared his jaw and crossed his arms over his bare chest. Bellatrix felt her heart thump, and then she felt him press into her mind. She thrust him out, not anxious for him to see the way she felt about marrying him.

She didn't want him to see the way she could envision a quiet, private night between the two of them, pledging themselves to one another with only an officiant as the witness. She didn't want him to see the way she imagined his left hand with a simple band on it, the way she would adore being introduced to people as his wife. She didn't want him to see those fantasies, because they were just that. Fantasies.

"Everything's a fantasy until it's real," he reminded her, and she realised she'd not done a very good job keeping him out, after all. She frowned at him and shook her head.

"I know what can be real and what can't. You're Lord Voldemort. I am your slave."

"You're my witch," he corrected her, taking her face in his hands, "You're mine. And, for now, that is enough. Happy birthday."

* * *

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor

24 September 1970

"Bellatrix!"

She whirled around at the sound of her name, confused as Rodolphus Lestrange came walking briskly up to her. He held out a little box that was tied up with silver ribbon, and he said in a shy voice,

"I'm sorry it's a few days late. Happy birthday."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open with surprise. She'd celebrated her seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays as the girlfriend of Rodolphus Lestrage, but this year was very different. She glanced around furtively, noticing that he'd waited until everyone had left the meeting room. Today's meeting had been about mundane matters like plants at the Ministry, and Bellatrix was surprised to be ambushed like this. Just the same, she took the little box and muttered,

"Thanks, Dolph."

She untied the ribbon and pulled the lid off to find an antique-looking brass and abalone bracelet inside.

"It was in a fair state when I found it in Diagon Alley," Rodolphus admitted. "It's two hundred years old, they said. But I polished up the brass and cleaned the abalone decorations. Hope you like it."

Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and nodded. "It's lovely, Dolph, but you really, really didn't need to buy me a birthday gift."

His eyes changed a little, and he seemed sad as he told her, "I know that I cast you aside, and I was fool to do it. I also know what the current situation is. But at least let me give you a birthday gift, all right?"

Bellatrix blinked quickly and nodded. "Yeah. All right. Thanks again."

"See you." Rodolphus put his hand on Bellatrix's shoulder for a moment as he walked by, and once he'd gone out of her line of sight, Bellatrix could see that Lord Voldemort was standing in the threshold of his office. He'd opened his door and stepped out, probably having entered Rodolphus' mind when he heard the voices in the corridor.

Bellatrix swallowed heavily and walked toward him. He held out his hand, and Bellatrix silently passed over the box from Rodolphus. Voldemort glared after Rodolphus and then stepped into his office, slamming the door shut behind Bellatrix. He put the box on his desk, pulled his wand out, and said confidently,

"Evanesco."

Bellatrix gasped, not because her gift had been Vanished, but because the bracelet had apparently been a very old antique. She scowled a little at Voldemort, but his voice was steely as he noted,

"I'll have to knock some more sense into that boy, it seems."

"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, My Lord," Bellatrix protested, but Voldemort tipped his head and asked in a dangerous voice,

"Are you arguing with your Legilimens of a master about your ex-boyfriend's motives?"

"N-no." Bellatrix shook her head quickly and said, "I'm quite sure your assessment is correct, Master."

Voldemort stared at the place where the box had been, leaning back a little against the wall beside his desk and crossing his arms. He shrugged.

"Where would you have worn it, anyway?"

"Nowhere," Bellatrix insisted. "You were right to Vanish it."

Voldemort let out a shaking breath and stared at the floor.

"This is ridiculous," he whispered, and he sounded just like he'd done the first night they'd spent together in the flat. Bellatrix wasn't sure what exactly he was referencing, so she just stood there in silence. Voldemort glared at the rug on the ground, and Bellatrix wanted nothing more than to be able to see his thoughts.

"Bellatrix," he finally said, and she just met his eyes as he informed her, "I think I'm going to stay at the Savoy for a little while."

"Why?" Bellatrix asked desperately, and Voldemort's eyes flared with anger. He stood up off the wall, reached forward, and slapped lightly at Bellatrix's cheek. It wasn't enough to hurt, at least not physically, but it did humiliate her and make her feel like she'd taken a punch to the gut. She clutched at the cheek he'd slapped, and she struggled to see through the tears that formed at once as he growled at her,

"It is not your place to ask me why I do anything at all, Miss Black. It certainly is not your place to ask me why I sleep where I do. I am the Dark Lord. I am your master, or had you forgotten?"

"I'm sorry," Bellatrix whispered, but before she could take another breath, she was being slammed against the wall, his hand clenched around her throat. She gagged and spluttered for air, her hands going on instinct to his wrist to try and wrench him away. He released her, looking tortmented as his chest heaved with quick breaths. His eyes shone oddly, and he hissed at her,

"I'm in love with you."

"I... I know." Bellatrix rubbed at her throat, which burned and ached from him squeezing it. She struggled to stay upright as she nodded and assured him, "I won't ever expect anything from you, M-Master..."

He snatched her right hand and jabbed his finger toward her ring as he pointed out, "But you have got something from me. Something to mark you as mine. And what does that make me, Bellatrix?"

"It makes you my lord and master," she whispered, feeling for the first time that he might actually kill her. He'd mentioned doing so in Paris, but she'd never really thought it could actually happen. Now, standing in the office where she'd first presented herself to him for his service, she thought he might do it.

But he kissed her, smashing his mouth so hard onto hers that her head banged against the wood paneling. His teeth cracked against hers, and his tongue plunged like a weapon into her mouth. Bellatrix tried to gasp, but his hands were back to the sides of her throat, choking her a little as he kissed her. Finally Bellatrix pounded her fists against Voldemort's chest, feeling tears work their way out of her eyes. He pushed her even harder against the wall, and finally it got to the point where Bellatrix couldn't breathe or think properly. She chomped hard against his bottom lip, tasting blood at once. He finally let her go, staggering a step backward as he rubbed his wrist over his lips and stared at the blood she'd drawn. He healed up his lip with a quick spell and sniffed lightly.

"I'm sorry," Bellatrix gasped, her voice hoarse from being choked. "I couldn't... breathe..."

"I know." Voldemort sounded dizzy and sick in a way she'd never heard him sound. He turned away from her and barked harshly, "Bellatrix Black, you will marry me."

"Wh-what...?" Bellatrix blurted the word before she could think. She held her neck and shook her head in wild, painful confusion. Her voice was a gravelly growl as she asked, "My Lord... what did you say, please?"

"I've just told you that you're to marry me. It is not optional," Voldemort said in a clip, glancing over his shoulder. "You are already mine. I mean for you to be mine in a way that can not ever be argued."

Bellatrix blinked quickly, unsure of what to do or say. She cleared her throat and managed to say hoarsely, "I'll do whatever you want me to do, always. I just want to make you happy, My Lord."

"I know," he said again. He turned to face her at last, dragging his wand around her neck and murmuring spells she didn't recognise. The ache in her throat felt better at once, and her voice sounded more steady as she asked him,

"When? Where?"

"I haven't decided that yet," he sniffed. "But I have made up my mind; the only way forward is for you to be my wife. You will do it without question or protest."

"Of course I will, Master," Bellatrix nodded. "I will do it happily."

He pressed her against the wall again, more gently this time. She felt herself being lifted by her waist, and he used that mysterious spell he'd used in the flat to 'glue' her invisibly to the wall. He reached between them and unbuttoned the trousers he had on beneath his flowing outer robe. His fingers knifed up between Bellatrix's thighs and shoved her knickers aside, and he cocked up an eyebrow when he felt that she was dry.

"Unexpected, but not a problem," he murmured. Bellatrix wondered how exactly he'd expected her to be wet right now, when she'd been slapped and choked and then told she'd be getting married. She was confused - nothing more, nothing less. But she shut her eyes as his fingers started to move on her, one hand Vanishing her knickers with wandless magic whilst the other fiddled with her clit. She started to go wet when she realised he wanted her as his wife, even if the only reason he did was possession. If that was how he wanted to possess her, she would gladly be his.

"There is an old marriage rite," he was saying with his lips beside her ear, "from back when wizards and witches were very moralistic. It originated in Spain, when the Magical population was mixed in with rigidly Catholic Muggles. The rite ensures that if either party commits physical infidelity, they will suffer permanent and severe malformation of the genitals."

Bellatrix gasped then, for he'd shoved his cock into her body and was rocking his hips back and forth. She tried to concentrate on his words as he informed her,

"Once I find that rite, it will be the one we use. As privately as possible. The purpose of this is to ensure that you are mine in perpetuity. And, because I do love you, Bellatrix, I will be yours. Permanently and indelibly."

She sobbed a little as she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. He buried himself to the hilt and came with just a little grunt, his cock throbbing inside of Bellatrix in a way that nearly drove her over the edge. She never quite got there, though it did feel good when he pulled out of her and brought a stream of his seed with him.

He lowered her carefully to the ground, but he didn't clean her up, and she had no knickers. She pulled her wand out and made a move to siphon up the mess that was leaking out of her, but Voldemort shook his head.

"Leave it," he ordered her. "I want to smell the sex on you when I do this to you again, at home in our bed."

Bellatrix shivered a little and nodded. "Yes, Master."

He took her cheek in his hand and lowered his mouth to hers, his lips dragging along hers almost soothingly as he whispered,

"I'm sorry you got hurt."

"I'm fine," she promised him, and he nodded, raking his fingers through his hair.

"See you at home, then. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, My Lord." Bellatrix walked on wobbly legs from his office, feeling the marks of what he'd done to her on her throat and between her legs.

* * *

27 Rosary Gardens

29 September 1970

"This rite will not be comfortable." Voldemort stalked around the bench at the end of the bed, where Bellatrix sat looking nervous. She'd dressed in a simple white nightgown, as per his instructions. She suddenly looked very young, much younger than nineteen, and Voldemort gulped. He turned round and pulled a black velvet drawstring bag from the dresser. He pulled out a bar of soap and handed it to Bellatrix.

"I prepared the soap yesterday with the necessary ingredients. The spellbook clearly states that both parties must be cleansed from head to toe with the soap. It is a ritual cleansing, but there is also a Magical removal of any spiritual filth that would affect the binding ceremony. I must wash you, and you must wash me. So let's go."

He started to walk from the bedroom, hearing Bellatrix's feet pattering behind him. He was a fool for doing this, he thought - for marrying her. But he did not feel at all as though he had a choice. He moved with clinical, smooth motions as he started up the shower and set his wand on the shelf above the sink. He stripped off his black terrycloth robe and hung it up behind the door, and he watched as Bellatrix anxiously pulled off her nightgown. They got their wands and stepped into the shower then, and Bellatrix stood under the water to get herself wet.

"Pay attention," Voldemort said sharply. "You'll be doing this same thing to me, so pay attention."

He began to wash her then, noticing the way the Magically-concocted soap kept her hair smoothed and didn't tangle it. He sudsed up his hand and washed her face, letting her rinse it. He washed her neck, her armpits, down her shoulders and arms, her back, her stomach. He crouched down to scrub her legs, her feet - including the soles, one at a time - her backside, and then he carefully dragged the soap around the outside of her womanhood. He let the bubbles go down the drain, and he aimed his wand at her heart.

"Mundabo. Preparo in Nuptias."

Bellatrix's eyes had never seemed wider, darker, brighter. They glistened, almost black, child-like and afraid and happy all at once. Voldemort wordlessly handed her the soap, and he saw then that her fingers were shaking like mad. He got wet under the hot water, and he had to bend to allow Bellatrix to scrub at his thinning hair. She washed his face, his chest and neck and back and shoulders. She scrubbed his arms and hips and backside, his legs and feet, and then at last she carefully moved her soapy hands around his cock and the orbs beneath. Voldemort shut his eyes and tried to stave off the sense of stimulation from her doing that. They had more important things to do right now than to fuck. Still, he felt himself going more than a little hard in her hands, his eyes looking up and down her wet, naked form, and finally he hissed,

"I'm clean. Say the spells."

Bellatrix nodded firmly and pulled her hands away. "Mundabo. Preparo in Nuptias."

Voldemort reached behind him and wandlessly Vanished the soap. He jerked his chin outside the shower and said,

"Dry off. Get your nightgown on and go to the bedroom."

She obeyed, and he did the same, drying himself and pulling his robe back on. He followed her into the bedroom and cleared his throat roughly as he held out his left hand and barked rather harshly,

"Take my hand."

Bellatrix did, and he could feel the tremble of her skin through his fingers. He had a sudden urge to kiss her, but that was not part of the ceremony.

"I pledge myself to you in my entirety - body, mind, and soul," he said, meeting Bellatrix's eyes. "As your husband, I will be loyal in every way. If ever I betray you, let my flesh pay the price."

He raised his eyebrows, and then Bellatrix blinked a few times and stammered,

"I p-pledge myself to you entirely -"

"In my entirety," Voldemort corrected, and Bellatrix quickly started over.

"I pledge myself to you in my entirety - body, mind and soul. As your wife, I will be loyal in every way. If ever I betray you, let my body -"

"Flesh," Voldemort murmured, and Bellatrix nodded.

"If ever I betray you, let my flesh pay the price."

He felt a sudden vibration between their hands, and he was almost dizzy as he mumbled out the last needed spell.

"Fidelitas Sempeternam."

Bellatrix seemed very breathless then as she repeated, "Fidelitas Sempeternam."

Voldemort watched in wonder then as rings materialised out of the air onto their fingers. He'd put a ring on her right hand, but now a simple ring of black metal wound itself around her left ring finger. She'd never be able to take it off, he knew, just like he'd never be able to take off the matching, larger ring than spun itself around his own ring finger. His eyes went a little wide as he held his hand up and stared at it, and he heard Bellatrix whisper,

"I'm your wife… we're… you're my…"

"Husband. Yes. We are married now. It's late; let's go to bed." Voldemort climbed into the bed, and he watched as Bellatrix followed up under the sheets, looking shaky and uncertain. Voldemort shut his eyes and informed her again, "I told you this rite would not be comfortable for you. That's because… in this particular situation, the wizard inevitably feels a rather primal urge to claim his wife as his own."

Bellatrix stared at him from where she knelt. Her lips fell open a little - pretty lips, he thought - and she stared down at the shiny black ring on her finger.

"Claim me," she whispered. "Haven't you already…?"

Suddenly Voldemort found himself rather short on breath, and he whispered,

"Get on your hands and knees. Now."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix obeyed. She always obeyed, good girl that she was. Voldemort shoved her nightgown up and over her head and wrenched it away, tossing it off the side of the bed. His own robe joined it, and he felt himself going hard as something deep within him told him to fuck her, take her, make her his. Stain her with his come, bruise her with his mouth, leave marks on her with his hands.

Thwack!

He smacked her backside harder than he'd ever hit her before, and Bellatrix cried out in a mixture of agony and confusion. Voldemort did it again, hitting the same spot with his left hand as his new metal ring left welts on her flesh. Distantly, very distantly, he was aware of her sobbing, begging him to let up on her, but he couldn't.

He wrenched her over onto her back and hovered over her, leaning his weight on her until she was spluttering and coughing and gasping for air. He pushed harder, and Bellatrix's hands shoved and smacked at him in an attempt to get him off. When he finally pulled up, she gulped in air like she'd been drowning. He didn't give her a chance to recover; he gripped one breast until she screamed in pain, and then he bent down and started attacking her neck. He bit and sucked as Bellatrix moaned in weak, submissive discomfort. He was leaving purple and black marks everywhere, he knew. He had to. He had to tattoo himself on her. He had to.

He moved to the other side of her neck and shoved his cock into her body, feeling that she was drenched despite the pain he'd inflicted on her. He squeezed so hard at her thin thigh that she yelped, and he started to shove himself roughly into her, still vicious at her neck. Suckling hard and biting until he drew blood in one instance, Voldemort marked up her neck and then pulled himself up to his knees. He kept fucking her, his hips jolting back and forth with urgency. He gripped her jaw tightly in his hand, and he watched Bellatrix wince.

"You are mine," he snarled. "Mine. You've been mine since the day you came into my office begging me for something, anything. And I gave you my cock and you were so damned grateful for it."

"I'm yours," Bellatrix whispered, nodding frantically. Voldemort studied the bruising all over her neck and remembered the time they'd played with knives. That would be fun again sometime, he thought. For now he put a hand to either side of Bellatrix's neck and squeezed, careful not to hurt her as he cut off just enough oxygen to put fear into her dark eyes. He pumped his hips harder, and her hands clawed at his chest in desperation.

"You want to breathe?" he taunted her, and Bellatrix gurgled her assent. Her face started to go red, so Voldemort released her. She coughed a little, and suddenly Voldemort felt compelled to inform her,

"I am desperately in love with you. Pathetically in love with you. You know that, don't you?"

He jerked his hips hard against her, and as his come spurt forth into her waiting body, he shut his eyes and asked again,

"You do know, don't you, that you've consumed so much of me? I love you."

"I… I love you, too, My Lord." Bellatrix sounded thirsty. That was the first though Voldemort managed to have after all of the vigorous physical interaction between them. When he climbed off of her, he reached for his wand and cleaned them both up, and he Conjured them both cut-crystal glasses and cast Aguamenti charms. He sipped from his own glass and watched Bellatrix do the same, reaching up to hold her tender neck with her free hand.

"I can get you some Butterfly Weed Balm for that," Voldemort said carefully, "or I can use spells to heal it up."

"Perhaps you ought to leave it, Master," Bellatrix said, sipping her water. She sounded hoarse, and she actually coughed a little, her fingers dragging over the breast he'd squeezed far too tightly. She sniffed and reminded him, "There's a Death Eaters' assembly tomorrow. Perhaps I ought to wear my hair back, wear something with a low neckline… you know, to show them…"

"To show them that I claim what is mine," Voldemort nodded. He pulled his knuckles down over the angry places on her neck and chest, and he murmured, "Yes. Let them see what I've done to your body. Let them see your wedding band, and mine. Let them realise that when I decide something belongs to me, I seize it. I take it forever. I have taken you forever, Bellatrix. I am yours, and you are mine. You know it to be true, don't you?"

"Yes, Master." She turned her beautiful young face to him then, and her lips curled up with unshackled happiness. She set her empty water glass down on the bedside table, and she hesitated. "May I ask you one thing? Since you are my husband now?"

"Of course." Voldemort nodded rather imperiously, and Bellatrix whispered,

"Please, My Lord… will you hold me?"

"Oh. Yes." He knew she needed that just now, after being brutalised by him. He lay on his back and pulled her nude body against his, and as she curled up against him, he kissed her hair and then her forehead.

"How very beautiful you are," he said in a soothing voice. "When I dream good things, it is often a vision of you in battle, screaming curses, looking for all the world like the most beautiful witch who's ever lived. And you're my wife now."

She raised her eyes to him and nodded once. "And I'm your wife now."


End file.
